A NORMAL LIFE
by Bonpetitepoodles
Summary: Christine Daae prayed daily for the chance at a normal life. Worlds apart, another entity would literally murder for their chance at one. The scary part was... would it be her he was willing to kill? Updated. AU Modern Leroux Erik.
1. Chapter 1

A NEW LIFE

Prologue

Arms akimbo, Nadir Kahn stared aghast at the expensive, India ink splattering his new blue Armani suit. A sharp crack immediately filled the tense atmosphere. Ducking, he felt metal scrape his skull as the remaining parts of a fountain pen lodged in the wall behind him.

Cautiously straightening up, he rubbed his head. In his peripheral vision, Nadir noticed that the new man, Darius, had not been so lucky. The fresh recruit lay sprawled on the carpet, nervously dabbing his dark cheek. An Etruscan vase had left tiny cuts, and if Nadir had his guess, an inevitable bruise would follow.

"We are on an Indian Reservation not the ever-loving C.I.A. headquarters. No one would have seen the pair of you. You could have played tiddly-winks with the target in the amount of time you wasted," the voice murmured. Nadir shivered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The owner of that voice was at his most dangerous when it was under control.

"Not one single man or woman is willing to discuss 'The Angel', even under duress." Nadir wiped at his ruined pants with a wilted handkerchief.

Twirling in his leather chair, exposing a broad back to the other men, the voices' owner placed pale hands behind his head. Perusing the fourth story window he queried, "I trust you have already disposed of the body?"

Darius stood to his feet, hard put to keep an expressionless face. "Yes, but boss we can't kill the entire village!"

In a heartbeat, cold fingers wrapped painfully around Darius' throat. "Ah, Mr. Santiago, your lack of faith saddens me," the silky voice hissed.

Eyes bulging, Darius frantically pried at long, thin fingers while his feet slowly left the floor. Excruciating pressure exploded in his chest. Tortured lungs desperately fought for air as his vision began to fade.

"Release him before you do some damage, we need him," Nadir mopping his forehead, quietly reminded his long-time friend.

Seething, the voice released the coughing man dropping him down on his backside. "Then make sure he does his job, Kahn. We don't have long before Interpol infiltrates this area. And when they do, I intend on being long gone."

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The Secret is out.

"You look like you could sleep a week, go home and I'll finish up here."

"Won't have to tell me twice," Dr. Raoul Chaney stretched long arms above his sun-bleached head. Bending backward he groaned. Stifling a yawn, he proceeded to hang his lab coat on an antique clothes hook in his office.

Surveying the faded room, Raoul loosed a satisfied smile. Thanks to Christine, this worn, faded clinic was the best in the Indian Nations. It could top some state-side.

He glanced over at his companion. She continued to balance delicately on a rickety office chair. Her unusual-colored dark hair was in a chignon filled with various pencils. The woman was oblivious to the mischievous curls trying to escape their confines.

Humming a contemporary tune, she deftly shut down the clinic's computer, aptly named Methuselah.

"How can you be so perky after a busy day like today? I have yet to understand," Raoul teased as he ambled to the rear of the room. Shaking his head, he checked the back door alarm. Unlocked again. Nurse Christine Daae seemed to never remember it.

"My day has just begun. Its dusk and I still have to set up for tomorrow's Obstetrics Clinic." She smiled lopsidedly at her dearest friend.

Raoul frowned, deepening the grooves that lined his concerned eyes. "Let Miriam do that for once, Christine." Sighing, he decided to broach the elephant in the room. "Aren't you a little worried about the rumors?"

Rubbing her temples, Christine groused, "Unless pigs fly, I am not going to uproot my life again. I'm getting too old. If I am exposed, the Cherokee will have to deal with it. Maybe they'll be like others and think it preposterous anyway. Remember it took an earthquake to convince you of the situation's validity in Peru."

Ignoring Raoul's disgruntled snort, she pat his arm, watching the emotions chase across her friend's expressive, open face.

Murmuring contritely, Christine reached up to muss his immaculate hair, noting the silver streaks that highlighted the yellow. "Besides, we both know I can't take you with me if I have to go. Who could I trust to watch after Connie? She has a career now. That baby has endured a lifetime of servitude with a missionary nurse for a mother. It is her time to shine."

"What about Meg," Raoul asked.

Christine smiled at the thought of her bubbly friend Meg. "She can't do it by herself, Raoul." Christine giggled, "Our international model is chasing some hot Baron, as we speak."

Raoul decided to resume and old disagreement. The nervous doctor took a deep breath. He wanted, no, he needed to spill forth his speech. After all, he had mentally practiced it for a lifetime.

Taking her delicate hands in one of his warm ones, he held them close to his heart. Tilting her chin up, he searched her brown eyes. "You know how I feel, Christine. We aren't children shyly trying out first kisses anymore. Heck, we aren't even young adults for that matter. I was furious with Father for moving to Paris. When I finally made it back, you had married and disappeared.

"When we met again in Peru, well, I just knew it was fate." He lightly rubbed her chin with his thumb. "Is it Gaston? He has been gone for twenty-two years. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to stay alone forever. Christine, I may have some wear on me but..."

Christine placed a small, pink-nailed finger across Raoul's lips. As she looked into his earnest, hurt eyes, she felt tears well up in her own. "I know that Gaston wouldn't have wanted me to stay alone. He was an unselfish young man. He's not the reason I avoid commitment. Connie enabled me to move on easier than I would have. Life has a way of sneaking up on a person when there is a child."

Looking down to avoid his blue eyes, she gently pulled her hands from his grasp. Absently, she began to fiddle with a button on Raoul's shirt. A blush fanned up her neck to adorn her cheeks. "You don't know the times I almost... asked you to come home with me, Raoul." She rapidly spoke.

Bemused, he reached down for her chin once more. Cupping her face, he softly asked, 'Why didn't you?"

Making love like that would be just as dangerous as a long-term commitment." She murmured as she tilted her face into his hand. Christine allowed herself to stay that way for a couple of minutes. Oh, just to enjoy Raoul's familiar, safe arms around her. What would forever be like in his arms?

Catching a whiff of his cologne, she felt a protective urge shoot through her. Sadly, she pushed him away. "I watched Papa spend the rest of his life keeping 'his girls' safe, Raoul. I can't do that to you. This world isn't such a big place anymore.

"Satellites, G.P.S., triple agents, D.N.A. and witness protection have narrowed its confines. There is almost no place left to hide. Life out there is like a science fiction movie. For a marriage, I have to want you beside me no matter what the consequences. I can't do that. I won't watch you be hurt or imprisoned for my sake."

With great effort, Raoul held his tongue.

"I have been selfish too long. The biggest example? I kept my baby beside me. I didn't want some government foster-care watching over her. She followed me through jungles, deserts...you name it. Was it a wrong decision? I don't know. What I do know is: At this stage of the game, I can't protect my mature child from what life will hurl her way.

"It was a major effort on my part to decide that Connie would be safer if we split up. As a star, her life will be under the media microscope; the paparazzi will make it obvious that a mother-figure is nowhere around. What better place than to hide her in plain sight? No one will think to question the need for body guards."

"General Daae wouldn't have wanted you living alone, Christine!"

"Au contraire. Things were closing in. Papa very much knew I would be alone in this world, except maybe for the Angel of Music."

Raoul felt himself relax, a smile reluctantly twitched at his lips. He didn't understand it, but true relaxation was a luxury given to him by Christine alone. With the slightest of touches she seemed to make the world fade away. "You still believe in that old story of the General's?"

She playfully smacked at his arm. "I remember a tow-headed boy, who sat at his feet begging for more 'dark stories of the north,'" she reminisced.

"Ah, those times were a feast of the senses. Sweet chocolate that melted in your mouth. First class violin concertos to fall asleep by, best of all, were his stories about the escapades of Little Lotte," Raoul sighed. "Those were the days."

Christine giggled, "Don't forget one drowned rat that pulled my red scarf from the sea…"

The couple twirled around, startled, as the walls suddenly reverberated. The front door had crashed open, forcing the metal knob to sink into the brittle drywall raising a puff of white dust. Two sweaty, limping men rushed in. They awkwardly carried a copiously bleeding, unconscious youth between them.

Recognizing the men, Christine reacted first-directing them into the nearest examining room. Raoul followed.

The two battered men laid their burden down on the stretcher. Christine gasped. The youth was her neighbor, Jackson Man Bear! His compatriots were Leon Two Panthers and Michael Hawk.

"What happened? Jackson is a good kid who always avoided fights!" Observing the carnage, she groaned, "Raoul, he is just fifteen years old!"

"They took a two-by-four to his legs, Angel," Michael gasped, running over to the sink to spit out a tooth.

"Shh… don't call her that," Growled Raoul, as he opened the boy's eyelids. The Cherokee people's tendency to call her Angel ran over his spine like nails on a chalkboard. With professional ease, he moved his flashlight beam from one eye to the other.

"Are either of you hurt badly," Christine asked, while efficiently taking the patient's blood pressure.

With great dignity, and a glare at Raoul, Leon Two Panthers stated, "We will live, Angel, just see to Jackson."

"Who? Who did this, Leon?"

"Death did this, Dr. Chaney. He has already visited Brian Deer-Tracker. Michael and I left right after tonight's council meeting. We happened to hear Jackson moaning in the woods behind the library. It looks like he and Brian put up one hell of a fight. Whoever it was would've killed us too, but I guess we were left as a message. When I woke up, Brian's body had disappeared, and Jackson was fading fast."

A gurgling gasp erupted from Jackson. "Run..."

"Don't talk, Mr. Two Bears, we have to get you to the city hospital. Christine can you call an ambulance," Raoul ordered tersely.

Jackson flailed his blood soaked hair. "No… he… wants Angel."

Within a nano-second Jackson's body stiffened and began to twitch in the throes of a seizure. The boy stopped as suddenly as he started, eyes staring into space. Raoul felt for a carotid pulse. "No pulse!" Placing his hands over the boy's heart he ordered, "Pull the crash cart over here!"

Ignoring Raoul, Christine wiggled to the head of the gurney and placed her hands on either side of Jackson's face.

"Christine, have you lost it? We need to shock him now or we won't revive him! You men bring me that cart!" Raoul was beginning to pant as he compressed the boy's chest. "I need the ambu bag! Christine! I could use some help here!"

Instead of bringing the defibrillator, Leon and Michael started to eerily chant an ancient death dirge. Christine simultaneously lowered her forehead to Jackson's. Raoul almost forgot to keep up the compressions when a brilliant, white light drifted up from under the gurney. Fog like, it swirled to encompass Jackson and himself. Unable to see, the other men stopped chanting. They strained and pulled at sore leg muscles, it was if they were frozen to the floor.

Raoul began to growl like a bear. The frustrated braves could hear the doctor's teeth grind together. The stretcher began to shimmy as the fog began to dissipate. Raoul yelled in alarm when his arms began to jerk.

Unable to tear his hands from Jackson, Raoul felt white-hot pain scorch his palms. Leon and Michael's feet loosened, enabling them to back up, knocking over equipment in their haste. To their horror, a jolt of blue colored electricity emerged from Jackson's chest. It rapidly circled up Raoul's arm. The light writhed and twisted, resembling a cobra. The snake hissed and struck repeatedly at the frantic doctor.

Thrown from the patient to the floor, the panicked man rolled to his feet. Rubbing his eyes, Raoul had the presence of mind to decide; despite the hallucination, to bring the crash cart himself!

Leon grasped Raoul's shoulders in an iron grip. As the doctor started to struggle, the muscled brave placed a light choke-hold on him. Once he had Raoul's attention, he nodded toward the patient in awe. "You might want to see this, Dr. Chaney."

Raoul gasped. Christine! Oh my God, he had forgotten Christine! Was she alright? Once he had his bearings, his shoulders sagged in relief. She appeared unharmed still forehead to forehead with Jackson. Her doe-like brown eyes continued to stay closed with dark lashes leaving crescent shadows on her ashen cheeks.

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth moving in silent supplication; Christine lifted her head. She seemed oblivious to the patient's blood smeared across her face. Sliding along the stretcher the nurse placed her red-stained fingers over the boy's heart.

With a phlemic gasp, Jackson's eyes jerked open. His chest began to rise and fall in a predictable rhythm. Christine shakily left his chest to run her hands down his sides. She cringed when she felt what was left of human legs. Bones protruded in several places, skin was missing, and his feet twisted at odd angles.

Sliding to his knees, Raoul watched grim-lipped. So the rumors in Peru were true. He watched the scene playing out before him in an almost catatonic state. The patient's protruding bones, coupled with wet sucking sounds, moved! Raoul grimaced as high-pitched squelching noises, like a boot stuck in the mud, emitted from the patient's ankles. He nearly vomited with anxiety, as the bones slowly slid back into the twisted limbs. Cyanotic, cold feet righted themselves, limbs that minutes ago look like they needed amputation, straightened.

The doctor's disbelieving eyes watched as blood thickened to inch like caterpillars, crawling to return and fill open gashes. Horrific, deep, knife wounds closed, resembling puddles drying in the summer sun. Keening and squeaking in a rodent-like pitch, black clots fell out. They shimmied like jello, rolling across the floor as if tossed by an unseen hand. The clots stopped short of Christine, resembling birds flying into a brick wall. Jackson's long, black hair gained a healthy sheen.

Blood splattered and weaving, Christine leaned wearily against the wall and whispered, "Amen."

Jackson Man Bear once again, in a stronger voice urged, "Run Angel Run. They are close."

Leon hurriedly limped over to push the front door closed, then locked it. Dropping the blinds, he spoke softly. "She can't go outside, too much time has passed. They could be anywhere. Michael, you take her to the rooftops and leave that way. I will stay here." Looking at everyone, he grimly suggested, "We all need to say I alone brought Jackson in to Dr. Chaney."

The men looked at Raoul and he nodded. Jackson held his hand out to Christine, reaching out she placed it between both of hers. "Thank-you." He said solemnly.

She weakly smiled at him. It was happening again! Despite her earlier conviction, she couldn't let anything else hurt these people. Panic momentarily gnawed at her stomach, causing her legs to feel rubbery. On the run again. She was alone. Utterly, irrevocably alone. She couldn't rely on her father's knowledge this time.

A half sob stuck in her chest. Would she ever be able to live a normal life? "Raoul…Connie?" Christine implored, eyes begging.

Still trying to process what he had seen, Raoul grasped her shoulders. "Go Christine, I will watch her with my life." The blond man kissed the top of her head. Determinedly he opened the closet. Encased inside was the rooftop ladder. "Take care of her Mr. Hawke. Christine how will I know you are alright?"

Christine grimaced, "It could be a while, but I'll contact you, Raoul. When this calms down, talk to Connie, she unfortunately, has been through this."

"I hate to break this up, but you two need to hurry," Leon urged.

Michael climbed ahead, the group below heard the ensuing groan of the trap door. Raoul lifted a trembling Christine up past the first floor ceiling.

Leon Two Panthers watched stoically, muscled arms crossed. Darting a look at Raoul he mused under his breath, "The fact is... you may indeed have to give your life, Doc. We all might. The Angel's protection is imperative, at all costs."

While watching Christine's feet disappear, Raoul shook his burning hands. Dr. Chaney ordered in a detached voice, "Leon, now we have to make Jackson look like he is dead once again…and while we are at it: explain to me what just went on. Did pigs just fly?"


	2. Chapter 2 Now You see Me, Now you dont

**Hello everyone, all you who have read the first chapter, I have tweaked it a little. You might want to re-read it. By the way I don't own the Phantom of the opera in any way-shape-or form. I just own this storyline. A heads up: there may be mature chapters later.  
**

CHAPTER TWO

Now you see me, Now you don't!

Christine's blood soaked uniform shoes couldn't keep traction, her feet slipped with each step. Michael reached down to help her climb the metal rungs to the roof. Dark eyes searching, he whispered for her to crouch. They were in luck; it was a balmy, moonless night. Replacing the trap door, he motioned for Christine to stay still. Dropping down, he crab-crawled to the end of the roof.

The clinic, a product of the sixties, was part of a small strip-mall sharing space with the barber shop, grocery store and several souvenir shops. The building boasted only a three-foot gap between roofs.

Christine swallowed bile, as perspiration gathered on her brow. Did she ever tell anyone she hated heights? At the braves' signal, she began to crawl on hands and knees. Ignoring the roofing that bit into her palms, she followed his lead. Hawke agilely hopped over the space, reached out to clasp her arm, and pulled her quietly over.

At the end, the barber shop had a rusty, metal fire escape in back. Silently the two ducked, taking a step at a time. Christine bit her lip, tasting blood, each time the metal groaned.

Michael wished he hadn't been so stubborn about cell phones, now. They could sure use one. What ever was out there was more than likely monitoring the one Christine carried. Dodging across the back parking lot they crouched behind the dumpster. Eyes alert, they zigzagged, disappearing into the darkened forest.

"I know they could be there waiting, but I have to go home and grab some important papers," Christine whispered. Listening to the wind in the trees and looking for out-of-place shadows, Michael nodded his understanding. If the thugs had night vision or heat sensitive equipment they were dead ducks anyway.

Deciding to ignore the footpath through the woods, the limping Cherokee brave led her away from the lights of the village. Michael held leaves and branches aside so she could pass quietly. Christine could feel greenery brushing against her. She refrained from squashing a biting mosquito, setting her chin against the itch: She silently promised the insect retribution later. She absently added calamine lotion to the list of things she needed to get.

The occasional call of a screech-owl, coupled with the chirping of night-bugs was a welcome sign that Michael Hawk and she were alone. A twenty-minute trip soon turned into forty-five and her small house was in sight.

"Key." Michael whispered, holding out his hand. He motioned for Christine to hide behind an ancient oak. Complying, she watched him disappear behind the house. She couldn't see nor hear him as he explored the perimeter.

Within minutes he returned, taking her arm. Once inside, the darkened house, Christine scurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Opening the closet she pulled back a piece of faded, rose papered paneling and retrieved a small black, vinyl bag. Replacing the paneling, she grabbed a backpack and started stripping off her uniform.

Michael frowned, confused at the older, Indian woman creeping down the stairs. He knew for a fact the nurse lived alone. Silently blowing through his lips, he relaxed. A backpack rested across her slim shoulders. On second glance, the long skirt and calico shirt hung awkwardly on Christine's petite figure. When she reached the landing, he picked up the graying braids and grinned.

'Ouch. The jerks sure packed a punch. He needed to remember not to smile.' Michael realized.

Holding out his hand he grasped the backpack. Placing it on his shoulders he inwardly smirked. It wouldn't do for an elderly woman to carry one of these. Man was it heavy! "What do you have in here, rocks?" He found the energy to quip.

Looking around, his eyes turned troubled. "Should we set the place on fire?"

Christine crossed her eyes and answered, "You watch too much television. They would really know I intended on getting the 'heck out of Dodge', then. With nothing disturbed, they may have to use some manpower to watch the house. They will consider it a good possibility I might come back to retrieve something."

"What now then, Christine?" Michael lifted a curtain to peer outside.

"A group similar to Homeland Security has a temporary safe house for me. I hate to keep you in danger, but could you get me to Alan Berkley?"

Michael's brows furrowed. "The drunk mechanic? He can't even help himself."

Christine smiled mirthlessly. "Things aren't always as they seem."

Without a glance back, Christine walked out of her residence, another one in a long line, with no end in sight.

"I have a truck, but we could be spotted at this time of night leaving the village. There is rarely any traffic until later." Michael offered.

Christine grinned, earning a grimace from Michael. She had blackened a couple of her perfect teeth. "Lead me on; I know just what to do."

* * *

"You sure this will work?" Huddled under a whiskey soaked blanket, Michael wasn't happy. Christine slid into the driver's seat, her diminutive legs barely reaching the clutch.

"You just act drunk as a skunk, and leave the rest to me." She answered confidently. In seconds the older Ford started, and she backed out of the drive. Michael relaxed; she hadn't even ground the gears.

"I don't want to insult your ride, Michael, but it sure drives better than it looks."

The long-suffering man placed his aching head against the window. "I don't have Alan working on it, I can tell you that."

Christine made a moue, as she surveyed his swollen lip and blackened eye. "I'm glad you aren't hurt any worse than you are, but being roughed up a little helps you look the part."

The young man, curled his lip and dryly replied, "Hardy har, har, some Angel you are."

Christine's knotted her brows. Checking the rearview mirror she asked, "Why do you call me that?"

Michel surveyed the petite woman beside him. She really could pass for his grandmother in her get-up. Feisty but frail. Sighing, he answered, "For years, it was a well-known fact that if you wanted to survive, you went to the city for medical care. That is, unless you had a splinter or a cold. Everyone knew to avoid the clinic by all means. Any Cherokee with sense knew that. Then Dr. Chaney arrived. You could definitely see a change in the care provided and a lot of us began to hope for quick emergency access.

"As an example, during this time the P. and N. Company started building the new casino, several were happy of new, higher paying jobs, but what made it lucrative, the owner had each worker take a physical, even insisting that they see an eye doctor and dentist. This in turn added to Dr. Chaney's good reputation. I hear he is recruiting a dentist and an eye doctor.

"Then you arrived with your daughter. No one knew you, but our over protective Medicine-Man, Robert Man Bear, Jackson's, grandfather, insisted you live in the village like family. What was even more strange, was the fact you knew our good doc.

"Word got out that Connie auditioned to star in that new television show; and faster than greased lightning, she was gone, just like that." Michael snapped his fingers. "Kept the gossips busy, and the young bucks sad. I never had the pleasure of her acquaintance.

"You know, the local Medicine Man is almost like a priest; if you have something to discuss, he will not divulge it to anyone. Robert kept hearing how much the clinic had changed once you started working there. He kept an informal record. There were fewer infections and fewer hospital admissions. I'm not proud of the statistics, but strangest of all, fewer drunken men to go home to their wives and sober up. How does that happen in one visit?"

Christine braked at a stop sign and Michael waved his hand. "Make a left here. Most of us are Christian, but our ancestors come from a long line of oral tradition and the practice of magic. People started to filter in to Robert, speaking of things unspoken for generations."

Christine's shoulders tensed, she could see where Michael's story was going.

"There are things both good and bad that surround us every day. I have even seen them. Of course, I don't tell you white folk, I don't like being called crazy."

"What kind of things, Michael." Christine checked her mirror to find headlights coming up behind them.

"Oh, shadows where there shouldn't be, voices in the mist, Ravens cawing over a sick person's house…" Michael began to huddle sleepily under the blanket. "You've heard of Kalona Ayeliski I presume, since you are a nurse in an Indian health care facility? You know, the Angel of Death?" He yawned.

The car behind them sped up and started to pass them. "Idiots. This road is eat-up with blind curves." Michael growled, as Christine geared down. The official looking car flashed its' lights and cut them off.

Tires squealing and brakes smoking, Christine stopped, muttering softly, "In character, Michael, whatever happens, stay in character."

An uniformed officer stepped up to the window, motioning for Christine to roll it down. In a cracked, garbled voice, Christine queried, "Something wrong officer?"

The squat, balding man shined his light into the cab, letting the beam rest on the reposing Michael. He wrinkled his nose at the liquor smell. "I am checking for an escaped prisoner, may I see your driver's license?"

"Sure thing officer, let me find it in my pocketbook" Christine dug around in a dilapidated purse. "I'm taking my grandson home. He drank one too many Jack Daniels... again, and now he won't be wanting to show up for work tomorrow… again. That's all the men round here want to do, get drunk. Don't know what we wimmen folk are suppose to do with drunk husbands and drunk sons."

The officer sputtered and tried to interrupt her tirade, switching his weight from foot to foot.

"Ahh, here it is!"Christine pulled a license from the purse. "You know you are on Cherokee property don't 'cha? You're supposed to let the Reservation Police handle matters like this. If they can. Most of them are soused too." Christine smiled, in order to display her blackened teeth.

The policeman shuddered, but Christine continued on. "But never you mind none, a fine strapping man like you never gets drunk on his woman, I bet.

"Why don't you follow me home, I have a possum pie warming in the oven. You can help me get Jr. here into bed, and we can sit on the love seat and watch some television. I'm one of the lucky ones, I get five whole channels."

The officer took a quick glance at her license then reached out to hand it back. Christine let her hand linger on his, "You know, I likes me a bald man. Like that Yul Brenner, fellow. Find them right sexy, if you know what I mean?"

The uniformed man swallowed, wiping his hand on his trousers. He handed her a business card. "Looks like things are in order here. Here is my card, call me if you see a strange man lurking about."

"You sure you don't want to take me up on my invite?"

The man smiled sickly, shaking his head. "Can't be doing things like that on duty, Mam."

"Well, o.k. then. Thanks for doing your job officer. It's nice to know there are men with morals out in this cold, ole world." Christine started the truck, put her blinker on and eased to the pavement. As she passed the officer, she gave him a beatific, black-toothed smile.

Christine hissed at the snorting, giggling pile of blankets. Michael popped his head out enough to snicker, "And I thought Connie was the actress! 'I just loves me a bald man'!" He mimicked.

"You are slap-happy." Christine tossed the card into his lap. "Bet the number is invalid. Creep." She smiled wanly at Michael's renewed laughter. "Off to Berkley's we go. Oh, you didn't finish your story."

Michael gave a weary sigh. "If you don't mind, go ahead and drive, Don't think I'm going to get much of an explanation anyway. I'll finish later after I catch twenty winks. My head feels like someone tap-danced on it."

Christine nodded to herself, let him sleep. Hopefully, he would sleep through her departure.

.


	3. Chapter 3 Clear As Mud

CHAPTER THREE

Everything is Clear As Mud

Christine hated to, she really hated to, but she didn't know which road to take. She needed to wake Michael up. So much for a smooth exit. Stopping the truck she reached over and shook her passenger.

Michael Hawk could almost swear he had swallowed a whole box of cotton. He sniffed the over powering odor of Jack Daniels, and groaned. This feeling was familiar. It was what followed an all-nighter. Ouch, his eye! Cautiously his fingers examined the offending appendage. He had a shiner? Yep, he definitely felt like something the cat drug in and forgot about. Smacking his dry lips, he reached under the blanket to scratch his chest.

"Michael. Wake up!" A feminine voice commanded. Oh boy, who was this chick driving his truck? Her voice sounded nice, but oh-my-gosh, he must have been plastered. She was as old as his grandma. What was Charlie thinking, letting him leave with her? Good thing he woke up before they got home. Michael shuddered.

"If you don't wake up, you'll probably be castrated by noon!"

That did it. Everything came flooding back. Sitting up, he mumbled, "Sorry, Christine."

"I don't know where to go from here, and I can't tell too much in the dark," She sighed.

"Lucky for you, we're almost there. Just make a right and Alan's Garage is a mile down the road." Michael watched her drive through blurred eyes. "You purposely let me sleep didn't you," He accused.

Christine wrinkled her nose, "Don't know what you mean, Hoss."

"You let me sleep so you wouldn't have to give any answers."

"How strong you feeling, now?" She asked.

"Huh?"

"I need my cell phone destroyed before I make this turn, thought maybe you could turn those big strong arms on it." Christine smiled innocently.

Michael squinted his good eye and puffed his chest out. "Flattery will get you just about anywhere. I've a hammer under the seat though, will that do?"

"Perfect."

With a crash, her first smart-phone she'd ever owned bit the dust. Several ensuing whacks made sure nothing could be salvaged. "That felt empowering," Michael quipped.

Good humor restored, Michael asked, "I know I'm not going to get anywhere with my theory, Christine. But could you answer one question?"

"If I can, Michael."

Michael leaned over and spoke in a sotto voce, "Where you and the Doc playing 'kissy-face' when we interrupted?

"You are sooo bad." She frowned at him, when he chuckled.

Christine spied a ramshackle building surrounded by wrecked cars. A six-foot wooden fence stood in the back. Once she shut off the truck, vicious growls and barks greeted her ears. Unafraid, she grabbed her backpack; opened the door and jumped down.

She squinted. It was so dark, it was hard to tell where the door on the rickety building was. Michael joined her, only to stop in his tracks at the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Anyone with a brain can see it is dark. Anyone with half a brain would've turned right around and got back in that there truck at the sound of this here gun. I'll give you two the benefit of the doubt, now git before I use this here gun on you." A sleep-laden voice spoke through a crack in a window.

"Alan, you lug-head, it's me, Hawke!"

"Well ain't that something. Boy, we live on a Reservation, there's only about three dozen Hawks a keeping house here. Give or take a few."

"This is Michael Hawke. I have a lady here that wants to speak with you."

"When did you start sharing, your piece of pie, Hawke?"

Christine's cheeks flared red in the dark. Michael mumbled, "I always knew he was a crude bugger."

The sound of a rusty lock screeched on the air. "Wanted to see me, did you say. I know she's gotta be drunk hanging out with you, but is she blind too? She'd better be a six, well, no lower than a four, least-wise."

A short, thin man in long handle underwear, sporting a couple of days worth of scraggly beard, stepped out of the building. Using his tongue on his hand he slicked back his oily brown hair.

Michael groaned. "She…"

Red faced, Christine stepped into the light cast by the bare bulb hanging over the door. The mechanic's eyes widened, "Don't just stand there, come in." He grasped Christine's arm and pulled her inside.

"Wait." Ordered Michael, scrambling for Christine's other arm.

"Don't give me any grief, Hawke, get inside!" The mechanics' southern drawl hardened. Michael decided since the man had a gun, well, he'd better comply.

Shutting and locking the myriad of locks on the door, Alan squinted out of the window for several minutes, hands idly caressing the gun.

"I don't see any red dots, guess were ok for a while." He extended his hand to Christine. "Ms. Daae. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Christine couldn't miss Michael's jaw drop at the change in Alan Berkley. The short man's slouch was gone and his voice could rival a college professor.

"What are you doing in such company, may I ask?" Alan glanced between Michael and Christine.

"A mutual friend questioned another friend of ours. He was quite brutal, I might add." Exhausted, Christine plopped down on a dusty chair. "I just don't have a clue which mutual friend did the questioning."

"How much does he know?" Alan jerked his head toward Hawke as he pulled on a pair of jeans.

Christine drew a critical eye across Hawke's injuries. The young man wasn't much older than Connie. She felt guilty for involving another mother's child in her chaotic life. Voice full of regret she answered, "Not much. Poor guy needs some tender loving care, though. His cuts haven't been attended to." Christine stood up and walked behind the confused brave.

"Everything is as clear as mud, Berkley. I don't know anything, except there were four of us ambushed. We took one to the clinic. The nurse here, is as tight-lipped as a mason-jar." Hawke sighed, as Christine started to massage his sore shoulders.

His eyes closed in relief. There was just something about older women. Someone should write a song about them, oh wait, there was a song. Something about older women being beautiful lovers. Hmmm, Christine sure didn't look like the older women he knew.

Michael was aware of his erratic thoughts, but before he could speak, His head began to feel woozy; his body bending to fit a multicolored, spinning vortex. Great, someone just flushed him! In seconds he had slumped to the floor.

"Quick, I've an old van out back we can put him in, he can wake up there. I'm sure whoever it is will search the garage first. How long will that 'Spock-Vulcan' hold last? First time I've seen that, though I've been told about it."

Christine opened her mouth to answer, but he said, "Never mind, the dogs will keep anyone away from the van for a while. Did anyone see the two of you?"

Remembering to shut her mouth, Christine grimaced, "A police officer pulled us over, but we put him off." She rummaged through Michael's shirt pocket and found the business card. "It states 'Officer Joseph Bouquet'. His badge said he was a state trooper."

"Probably an alibi. Hawke has to get rid of that truck, then. I'll leave enough money and directions for him to buy a new one the next county over. Guess I'll just stuff it in his pocket. When Nix gets here at seven in the morning, I'll have him crush that wreck outside to the size of a suitcase. Glad I won't be here when Hawke finds his pride and joy gone. Here, you get his feet and help me move him out back. Damn, he's a heavy son-of-a-gun."

* * *

Joseph Bouquet flinched, emitting a frustrated groan when his cell phone rang. 'Unknown number', he should have known. Only one person called him under that guise, and they definitely weren't going to be happy. Heaving a sigh, Joseph answered, "Yes, Boss?" Within seconds, Bouquet paled. "Only people I've seen on the road were a horny old crone and her drunken grandson. Be there in five minutes, Boss."

Tossing the phone on the seat, the nervous man gunned the car. Rubbing his neck absently, he swallowed, unable to shake the unnerving sensation of smooth cat-gut wrapped around his throat.

Joseph immediately recognized the dark car sitting in the shadows of the strip mall. Passing it, he pulled up to the clinic; the lights were still on. Removing his gun from the holster, he stiffly exited the car. Hitching his pants with his unoccupied hand, he entered the glass door. He instantly found the fair-headed doctor hunched over a desk, writing in a chart

"Hello officer, can I help you?" Raoul eyed Bouquet's gun, but returned to his writing. Hopefully the officer couldn't see his hands shake.

"Heard you had some excitement here tonight. Just coming around to see if all the riffraff cleared. Can't be too careful you know. Place like this probably has narcotics for the taking. You won't mind if I look around?" Not waiting for Raoul to answer, Joseph investigated the examining rooms.

"You're not going to find anybody. As you probably know, around closing time I admitted a young kid; he'd been in a knife fight. While I was working on the boy, whoever it was that brought him in disappeared. I lost the patient. He died about twenty minutes later. You just missed Brown-Estes funeral home, and the reservation police."

"Coroner come?"

"I am the coroner. Elected this past May." Raoul watched as Bouquet recovered from his blunder.

"That's right. It's been a long night already." The man in uniform shook the lock on the drug cabinet and peered into several drawers, sifting through hypodermic syringes. Coming to the utility closet, he idly opened it. Raoul's blood ran cold. Looking around at the brooms and cleaning supplies, Joseph shrugged, oblivious to the ladder covered in wet cleaning rags attached to the wall.

"What's upstairs?" Joseph pointed above his head.

"Tourist trap. You know, genuine moccasins, dream catchers and other Cherokee knickknacks."

"Any way of getting up there from here," Bouquet inquired.

Raoul previously had an hour to fine-tune his story. Tell as close to the truth as you can; was Leon's motto. Nonchalantly he shrugged, "No. Back in the seventies they had a man streak from here up to there. I don't think that was something the tourists had come to see, though I heard some did take pictures.

"The guy caused a serious uproar. He was a Viet Nam vet, and was in and out of here constantly. He'd be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome today. The town council had the stairwell blocked up. If you look closely you can see the different colored dry wall over there." Raoul pointed to his office.

Joseph examined the wall behind Raoul's desk. "I can see the different color here. Looks like you handled it. Too bad about the kid. Want me to escort you home?" Joseph half-heartedly offered.

Inwardly Raoul thanked God that Christine had run out of paint unable to finish that section of wall. "No thanks, my car is outside," he replied.

Bouquet replaced his gun back in the holster. "Well, if you see anyone strange hanging around let me know."

Raoul heaved a sigh as the balding man allowed the door to bang shut behind him.

Casually walking to the black car, Bouquet tried to act like he was going to question the occupants. The back window rolled down a crack. Joseph could feel perspiration dripping down the back of his neck-though the air from the vehicle felt thirty degrees cooler.

He barely made out the dark shadow sitting in the back seat. "Clear, Boss, no sign of a woman. The other brat died, too. They took the kids' body to the Brown-Estes funeral home."

"Go home. I'll handle this." The voice ordered.

The window closed, barely missing his fingers and the driver started off with a crunch of gravel. Joseph jumped back, a curse on his lips. That did it. He busted his chops all night and never got so much as a by-your-leave. He wanted out. The constant threat of having the life choked out of him was making him old quick. Ambling back to the cruiser, he pondered the dilemma. How could he get himself out of the situation he found himself in?"


	4. Chapter 4 Did I say that?

CHAPTER FOUR

Did I say That?

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long delay, my husband and I were hit broadside and of course my right arm was hurt. It looks like for a while the chapters will be short. Oh, by the way, I hope my readers understand, that the views stated regarding the American Indians are egocentric to my characters. Indians are not drunks please research! I will not say anymore in the hope that I won't insult anyone.**

Christine shaded her tired eyes with her hand as the Cessna circled the landing site. The dirt runway was short and narrow. The end seemed to chase past the horizon, grasping for the reds and oranges of the setting sun. Directing a quick look at Alan's profile she sighed. He appeared undaunted. Slender shoulders lifted in a shrug, her attention was once again on the dirt track. She had seen worse.

Deciduous forest lined the edges of the over-grown trail. To the right was a rickety, metal building which she assumed was the hangar. The structure's painted camouflage hung in curls off the metal sides, the pitched roof sagged in the middle.

"Doesn't look like much, but it is one of the governments' best kept secrets." Starting the descent, Alan nonchalantly nodded to the back. "Backpacks' are in the rear, you'll want to change out of that get-up and don something a little more bug proof."

With a bounce, and a cloud of red dust, the Cessna rolled to a stop. "Stay here." Alan agilely jumped from the plane to stroll toward the hangar. Cautiously looking inside a dusty window, the pilot pulled a handgun from his neck holster. Crouching low, he slipped inside the darkened interior.

Several minutes quietly passed by; and Alan exited, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Adrenaline laced with sleep deprivation- charged through Christine.

"Nothing I can put a finger on. Guess I should have listened to the higher-ups and taken a desk job. I've gotten jumpy with my old age." Patting the nose of the plane he asked, "Help me pull open the doors, so I can put Penny here up for a nap."

Christine slid to her feet and headed for the double doors. With a metallic groan they opened. Standing aside she watched Alan coast into the darkened building. An oppressive silence ensued as Alan cut the motor. Christine closed the hangar doors and waited for the Agent to hand down the backpacks.

"We need to have camp set up by dark." Alan ordered as unashamed, he skimmed out of his shirt. Christine quickly scooped up her pack and walked to the other side of the plane. Stiffly she removed her Indian clothing and replace them with khaki pants and an army issue shirt.

Hearing a scream reverberate above their heads, she dropped her pack in the dirt, slammed painfully to her side; then rolled under the plane. Something crashed into one of the walls, followed by breaking glass.

Alan's head appeared momentarily, and he grinned tightly. "Good to know, I wasn't completely loony, that owl must have been what I was sensing. After that incident, you don't get farther than five feet from me," he ordered.

Christine rolled out from under the plane dusting her pants, "Remind me to cancel my Wildlife Federation, membership."

* * *

Agent Berkley placed the empty meal wrappers in his hiking pack. Staring up at the stars, he groaned sarcastically, "Nothing better than a fireless campsite, makes one feel sooo cozy. So, Christine, how did you end up on the government's 'Most Wanted List', so to speak? I know what the Feds need for me to know, but I want to learn what I can from you."

Christine carefully poked the ground with a stick hopeing to route any reptilian visitors. Sitting, her back against a tree, she sighed,"Tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can do."

Offering the exhausted woman a drink from his flask, Alan started, "Well, I know that you are one of only fourteen known of your kind."

Irritated, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Christine glared at him in the dark, "My kind?"

Becoming serious, Alan pulled up a leg and rolled a small twig back and forth on his knee. "A healer. Not one of those Hocus Pocus, knock you on the head and collect the tithes, kind, but a real healer."

"You certainly have a healthy respect for organized religion." Christine groused, as she licked the rest of her candy bar off her fingers.

Alan shrugged. "The United States has nine of your compatriots secluded in a compound. Who knows where? That information is only known to the higher-ups, not a blue security peon like me. Britain has one and Israel has two. They too, are securely squared away in their prospective countries. That leaves two. Yourself, and a man who travels Europe, slickly evading capture these past thirty years, I might add."

"I know you have kept under the wire pretty much, traveling with your late father. Who by the way, was a genius in the United States Air Force Special Services; and your daughter…um Connie? What I don't understand is why you aren't in the compound with the others.

"Of course, if I knew the answers to that question, I would be a white clearance instead of a blue." Alan took another swig from his flask.

"Michael Hawke is on the right track, and that's all I can say, Alan." Christine kneeled to unroll her sleeping bag.

"O.k., I hope you don't mind a more personal question. Why haven't you remarried? You are definitely a handsome woman with a lot of life left in her."

"I married Gaston when I was sixteen, when we found out I was pregnant with Connie. The army drafted him during the Bush administration and he was killed by friendly fire. Coincidently, he died not too long after I found I was the proud owner of this healing gift; or whatever you would want to call it." Christine rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. "Gaston was so excited about being a father, and never got to meet her. No one could tell me what happened. He was in camp and the only soldier hit.

"During this time, Dad, came to live with me. I worked in an army hospital, and in a few short weeks my charge nurse noticed that not many of my patients passed on.

"Not long after that, in the middle of the night, a couple of men stating they were FBI agents insisted we leave with them. Their reason was they needed to question me and procure more information 'that only I could give them'. They said it was about a patient that did indeed die during my care. My father became suspicious and stalled. As far as I'm allowed to say, the good guys showed up, a scuffle ensued, our house was torn up, and we 'disappeared' for the first time."

"Still doesn't tell me why you haven't remarried." Alan reminded her, benignly.

Stretching, hoping to change the subject, Christine spoke teasingly, "Haven't found anyone with a cute enough rear-end."

Alan had taken a large drink from his flask, and snorted. The drink caused a bout of coughing.

Christine hit him on the back, hiding a smile. "My bad, did I say that?"

Waiting for him to settle down, she asked, "My turn. I have a feeling you know who was trying to scare me out of the clinic. All I know, the tactics were weird. Everyone in the village knew me, and where to find me, why kill Brian and beat the fire out of Jackson, Michael and Leon?

"The only thing they had to do, was arrive at closing time. Raoul and I were always alone at that time. My guess is, they hadn't been in town long enough to know the clinic hours."

"Well, like you said Michael is pretty close to figuring a few things out. His people have lived in that area for eons, they know every nuance of the area, and have a story for each one. From what rumors a town drunk can uncover, they are starting to think that you're a reincarnation of a legend. Most of the people feel that your protection is a top priority. Brian, Jackson, Hawke and Leon were protecting a life-style while protecting you."

"Would it have anything to do with the 'Angel of Death', Michael was talking about?" Christine slipped into her sleeping roll.

Alan looked down for a moment and sighed. "Kalona Ayeliski. He was half-man and half-spirit. He didnt follow any rules but his own. The legend goes something like this: The wise women of the nation gathered together to form a maiden from clay. She was a type of 'Kamikaze pilot'. This maiden was to make sure Kalona fell in love with her, and then lure him to a large cave. Staying trapped underground was the only way to prevent him from wrecking havoc on the Cherokee villagers.

"The Maiden was very beautiful and regal, an apt mate for the handsome Kalona. He thought they were soul mates, but there was one big difference, she was good on the inside and he definitely was not. He was an angry, selfish, evil soul. The maiden was so good she felt pity for Kalona. Instead of leaving him underground by himself, she stayed with him when The Great Spirit caused the cave to collapse."

Alan continued to stare at the stars, "The Cherokee think Kalona is at every sick person's bedside trying to hasten their death. When they pass, the ones with stains on their spirits go with him. He is able to leave the cave as a spirit, but the maiden cannot. He is trying to get enough souls to trade The Great Spirit for hers. She was so kind that he will gather spirits until the end of time, and never have ever have enough to ransom hers.

Christine furrowed her brow. "Ok, more than my poor addled brain can take at this moment. If I am suppose to be a reincarnation of the maiden, who is Kalona?

"But back to reality, why is something other than Interpol, or some other faction, trying to get me? I will be honest, I don't know if I trust the Core, or the Pentagon, or anyone for that matter.

"The attackers weren't professional or they wouldn't have left anyone alive behind the library. Secondly, why didn't Core know about it? I know they couldn't have, or I would have been taken from the site before the attackers moved in."

Alan frowned, "I think it is tied in. Core didn't know because it wasn't a professional job. Someone else has an agenda regarding you."

Christine's shoulders drooped, "Care if I take second watch, I'm beat?"

Alan rubbed a finger under his nose, a life long habit. "Seems keeping awake for long hours is my forte, one of the reasons the Core keeps me around. You go ahead and sleep. I will crash when we get to our destination tomorrow."

Looking over to the woman in the sleeping bag, he realized his words hung in the air unheard. Christine, was already wrapped snugly in the arms of Morpheus.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE No Man Is An Island

Jonathan Estes closed the door to the work-room. He had previously locked all the outer doors. Yawning, he wished it had been his partner, Tad Brown's, turn to work on call. He had been in the funeral business for over forty years, and tonight was the first time he felt uneasy. Maybe it was because this was the first murder on the Reservation since he had moved here.

Oh, it wasn't the first murder he had dealt with; years ago there were men in the cities who delighted in humiliating any Native American they came across. He was a young, fresh graduate with a young Cherokee bride at the time. He glanced up at the picture of a young woman holding a baby that he kept on his desk, and smiled.

Thank goodness it hadn't made him jaded. The sixties were a turbulent decade no matter how you remember them.

Sitting down in the office, Jonathan looked at his watch, an hour before the crematorium finished. Leon Two Panthers had insisted his brother-in-law, Brian Deer Tracker be ready tomorrow.

He hoped they could find Jackson Man Bear. Shame, both of those boys were a credit to the village.

Brian's body was found in the river tonight by two little girls. The boy had rocks in his pockets and cement blocks chained to his legs. Dr. Chaney had called him to the clinic, to wait for the retrieval of Brian's body.

Whoever had done this never realized that any Cherokee, young or old, would notice the disturbance around the water's edge. The murderer was good, but the natives easily followed the trail to behind the library.

Chief Blue Jay had a pretty good working profile of the perpetrators. They were male, one weighing about one-hundred twenty pounds, the taller, with a longer stride, weighing close to two-hundred.

What the? There was a clatter out by the crematorium. Jonathan sighed. His knees creaked as he rose from the comfort of his chair. He hurriedly stacked the papers on his desk then rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, the last time this happened, he had to call the authorities on a bear.

Leon Two Panthers watched Jonathan shuffle toward the back of the funeral home. He hated to do this, he didn't like involving Jonathan. It could affect the old man's funerary business. Despite his wife, Rain Dove's, pleading, Leon was determined he would take credit for any laws broken. The whole tribe was at his back. No one would reveal that Brian had been pulled from the river.

Leon replaced the stack of papers Jonathan was working on. He hoped the gentle soul didn't notice the added death certificate for a few more hours. He didn't want the old man to have any knowledge that anyone could come after him for.

Leon stealthily worked his way back to the work room. Inside, in an unlocked cupboard he found Brian Deer Tracker's clothing. Glancing at the steel body drawers that recently held his young brother in-law, he bowed his head. Stoically, he replaced the bloody apparel with Jackson Man Bear's. Giving a quick inspection he was satisfied, no signs left anywhere that the body in the crematorium was Brian. Leon left as quietly as he arrived.

* * *

The shadow melded easily with the others around it. He leaned against the building, and sniffed the air, his gloved hands clenching and relaxing at his side. The crematorium had recently been used. Hopefully, it had everything to do with his mission. Was Man Bear alive?

It was easy for the dark figure to enter the back garage that housed the ancient hearse. It was equally no trouble to sneak into the workroom. Efficiently, the intruder slowly pulled out each drawer. The tall man cursed at his discovery, all three were empty.

There could still be a proverbial 'light at the end of the tunnel', his target could well be on its way to becoming a pile of ashes.

The shadow opened the cupboard without a sound. He wasn't called the 'Phantom' without reason. Finding a labeled plastic bag full of clothing, the Phantom examined each item. They were exactly as Darius described.

Still, it wasn't enough to prove that the kid had died at the clinic. Closing the door, he made his way down the hall until he found an office. Hugging the wall his yellow tinged eyes watched.. Inside, an elderly man had just pulled the top off of a soda. The ensuing pop gave him enough cover noise to glide behind the man's chair.

"Soft drinks aren't good for a man your age. It can lead to an early death."

Jonathan Estes whirled his chair, to find an extremely tall, dark clad, man in a mask, standing behind him. Mouth agape, he noticed that the man's gloved hands were running the length of a thin rope, almost in a caress.

It only took a few minutes; Jonathan Estes was a frail man, his reactions slowed by age.

Stepping over the body, the dark interloper picked up a stapled set of papers lying on the desk. One death certificate was for one fifteen-year old, by the name of Jackson Man Bear. Smiling grimly, he tossed the stack back on the desk.

It didn't pay not be thorough. The Phantom roamed the visitation rooms and the family kitchens. Skepticism raked her depraved fingers through his mind. Human beings were an odd animal. Strange how man wanted useless burial rites. Nature in her efficiency, left the body to start life's cycle over again. Very few animals grieved for the dead. Only the ones who mated for life seemed to miss the departed.

The shadow grit his teeth, his mask digging into his jaw. Mated for life... eh, even animals had what he did not. Was he not entitled to what animals took for granted? Shaking off his morose thoughts, he decided to revisit the workroom, since now, he could turn the lights on without alerting anyone.

The room was now illuminated by bright operating room style lights. The yellow in his eyes receded to become mismatched green and blue as he surveyed the clinical equipment. Everything was clean and in place. A garbage can waited for someone to roll it out the side door. Standing in front of it, he used a booted foot to turn the can over. Hmm, his eyes narrowed. Squatting down on long, thin legs, he surveyed the contents.

Everyday dust mixed with paper spilled across the floor. Picking up a pen from the counter, he used it to rearrange the contents on the tile. The mask shadowed eyes widened. River mud! Who would have tracked river mud into the work room?

Man Bear was carried straight from the woods to the clinic. He supposedly died there. The shoes he had just examined were clean. Mud certainly didn't come from that pitiful excuse of an old man, his clothing was fastidious. Darius, and the Rat-catcher had better hope the other teen's body had not been found yet. If Man Bear wasn't the one in the crematorium, one other option was... it was Deer Stalker after all. If Deer Stalker's body had been found, then Man Bear had ample opportunity to warn the Daae woman.


	6. Chapter 6 Who to Trust

CHAPTER SIX

Who To Trust?

The next morning Alan led Christine along a series of animal paths. Over head, ancient oaks intertwined their branches with giant maples and sycamores. At any other time, she might have enjoyed the scenery. Wiping perspiration from her forehead, Christine was thankful for the shade that danced through the leaves.

Her dark curls clung to her slender neck in response to the humid air. She knelt to rinse her handkerchief in a small stream that meandered across their paths. It was cool and crystalline, fed from snow melting from the mountains.

At Alan's insistence, they stopped only to relieve themselves. The two of them ate breakfast and lunch, while hiking. Christine finally called an embarrassed halt close to noon. She had thought she was in shape! Her backpack had become unbearably heavy and her booted feet were killing her.

Christine slid to the ground and placed her head on her knees. She wondered if Raoul and Leon were able to protect Jackson from any more attacks. Would the Core step in and contact Raoul?

Eyes narrowed, Alan took a deep breath. His nostrils flared as he took in the sun's position. "We are about three hours from the checkpoint. I think we can slow down some." Surveying Christine's reddened cheeks he suggested, "Let's redistribute your pack contents. I can carry a heavier load."

The shadows had lengthened when the hikers entered an open area in the woods. Holding up a hand, indicating for Christine to halt, Alan surveyed the perimeter. A cardinal's call trilled upon the air. Alan's shoulders visibly relaxed as a large figure emerged from the shadows.

"Hola, agente Berkley, cómo fue tu viaje?" the new arrival asked.

"Muy bien, Lance, éste es Christine Daaé, no estoy seguro de que habla Español." Alan answered, cocking an eyebrow at Christine.

"Christine, this is Lance Cousteau. We were discussing…"

Christine wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. Holding out her hand, she interrupted politely. "Hola, señor Cousteau. Yo hablo pidgin Español, si no te permite hablar Inglés". She darted a look at Alan and deadpanned, "You don't live in South America without learning some Spanish. You are right though, I prefer English. I don't speak Spanish well enough to speak with confidence."

Lance grinned, holding out his hand, "Your backpack, Ms. Daae. You'll find the horses hobbled over there." He indicated farther up the path.

Christine's shoulders fell. Blowing a curl of damp hair out of her face, she thought, "I guess they never got a report on how well I ride... Not."

* * *

The music came to a crescendo, fireworks lit the back stage, fans screamed chanting for more, and Dr. Raoul Chaney believed he was now deaf. He couldn't help but notice all the young goddesses on the post-concert hunt: they all were stalking his companion.

Michael Hawke tried not to swagger, as several giggling, loud girls called out to him. He blushed, as one particularly brazen blonde whistled at him.

Raoul spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "We are due backstage in three minutes, will you stop the goo-goo eyes, we aren't suppose to attract attention!"

Equally as quiet, unaware of his looks, Hawke replied, "Wow, do you think it's the new duds?"

Raoul shrugged, showing a stage guard his pass. The short, pock-marked guard eyed Michael with disdain. He pushed up his glasses with a middle finger, and took his time with Michael Hawke's pass.

Giving a wily grin, the pint-sized guard spoke into a microphone lodged in his ear. A minute later, two suited men in sunglasses stepped up to Michael. "Miss Daae says she knows a Raoul Chaney, but not a Michael Hawke.

Feeling disrespected, Michael straightened up to his six-foot one and stared stonily down at the glasses-clad guard. The smaller man seemed to shrivel, sidling back to his booth.

Raoul groaned. He was in the middle of a testosterone war. "Tell Connie that Uncle Raoul says Mr. Hawke is with him, and the man loves to play the violin."

Michael looked aghast at Raoul, the older man raised his eye brows in pseudo-resignation. The stocky, red-haired guard spoke into his head-set, nodded, then motioned for them to follow him.

They left the back of the stage and walked up to a posh bus. The older, guard, whom Michael had dubbed 'Red', knocked on the door. Standing back, he waited as another suited guard opened it. A cheerful feminine voice squealed, "Uncle Raoul, bring your friend and come on in! It seems it's homecoming day at the homestead!"

Michael Hawke had never seen such opulence in his life, and this was a bus! The inside guard checked their I.D.s and disappeared into a back compartment. A smiling young woman, who looked exactly like Christine, except for blue eyes, ran up and threw her arms around Raoul. Stumbling backward, Raoul lost his footing and fell into Michael, who promptly fell on his backside.

"Well, Well, I seemed to remember your penchant for clumsiness, Chaney." A woman's voice purred in a warm contralto.

Offering her hand to Raoul, the girl giggled breathlessly, "Aunt Meg, give him a break! Uncle Raoul, you remember Aunt Meg Giry?" Turning around to the other guest, Connie Daae's carefree laugh stopped in her throat. Standing back up, brushing his pants off, stood a six-foot, brown-eyed, oh-my-gosh-not-a-Hollywood-fake, hottie!

Mortified at falling on his posterior in front of this beautiful woman, the pony-tailed man spoke,"Michael Hawke, a friend of your mothers. Nice to meet you. Hello, Miss Daae; you look just like your mom." Starting to perspire, the young brave rattled on, as he held a hand out to Connie.

Raoul didn't notice the young couple's awkward reaction to each other. He was busy. Was this woman the little elfin girl who made sand castles with him and Christine?

Meghan Giry wasn't an International Model for nothing. She reclined against the corner of a couch, clad in designer jeans and a top that was a best seller on her label. Her blonde hair style was a glamorous, complex weave. The wheat colored tips ended in a braid with tiny gems sprinkled here and there.

Patting the couch beside her, she drawled, "Let's catch up. The last I heard from you was... hmmm. Oh yes, when Christine called us to see if in an emergency, we would be Connie's guardians. All that gallivanting around in jungles!" Meg shuddered. "Its a wonder something hasn't happen to her already.

"The next thing I know, the two of you are working at the same clinic, and baby girl here is a national star." Taking a sip of her drink, Meghan raised an arched brow, "Is there something else I should know?"

"Plenty to know about, but you are 'barking up the wrong tree', Miss Giry." Raoul countered.

"Meg, if you please, Raoul." Meg corrected.

Connie had quietly shown Michael to a chair and offered both visitors a drink.

Fatherly instincts aroused, Raoul inspected his drink. Tea. Tea was a good thing, at least Hollywood hadn't gone to her head yet. He had previous visions of horrid parties dedicated to Bacchus.

At a loss what to say, unusually rattled by Raoul's handsome friend, Connie spoke the first thing that came to mind, "Good idea, Uncle Raoul, thinking about the violin. You knew, I would put one and one together, and admit your friend in."

Michael arched a brow, "What does ' violin' signify, anyway?"

"The Daaes throughout history are violin lovers. My grandfather had a natural ability to play by ear. Mother and I can play also. So, I naturally assumed Uncle Raoul's odd introduction to be a safe-word. It was a good way to know who to trust."

Ignoring their attempt to start a conversation, Raoul plowed on with his thoughts. "Are you satisfied with the guards, Connie?"

Taken aback a little, Connie answered, "They are from the Core, Uncle Raoul. They probably know what you're going to say before you do."

Michael swallowed, Connie had crossed her shapely, tanned legs, then leaned over to place her tea on a side table.

"What do you know about the term, 'Angel'," Raoul asked.

Meg looked in shocked confusion between Raoul and Michael.

"You've got to be kidding, Uncle Raoul!" Connie waved a hand as if to dismiss the question. "What do I know about Angels…Ha, Ha. You ask some weird things at times."

"This isn't a joke, Connie. How long has it been since you've heard from your mother?" Placing his elbows on his knees, Raoul pinched the area between his eyebrows.

"Before I went on a tour advertising this show, let's see, about three weeks ago." Connie leaned forward, "What's wrong?" Not liking Raoul's expression, the anxious girl stood up and grabbed Raoul's hand.


	7. Chapter 7 Mother Goose

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mother Goose

Christine whistled under her breath. Finally, she could see human shaped forms ahead. Could it be? There was something with them that had wheels instead of legs, too. "Hallelujah," Christine said gratefully. She bent down and pat her black mare's neck. "Nothing meant by it girl." The horse rolled her eyes and nickered in response.

Pulling on the reins, Christine stopped alongside Alan. A voice from the trail called," Mozart!" Alan replied, "'Driving Miss Daisy'!"

Satisfied all was well, Lance dismounted to help Christine off her horse. She watched two people approach well aware of the hidden guns in her companion's holsters.

One of the new arrivals was an older man with graying hair sporting a navy-blue beret. The other figure was a tall, angular red-head. Her tailored khaki clothing resembled a safari suit. Her accented voice was hoarse and guttural. "So this is our Healer. Welcome, Christine Daae," she fluffed her pixie styled hair with one hand, as she held out the other.

Alan had dismounted and started to make introductions. "Christine, this is Carlotta Giudiceli, and Julius Reyer. They will be two of your body guards. Does E.S.P. exist on your list of talents? You haven't asked where we are, but I'm going to tell you anyway. You are in the north-central part of Montana, close to the Canadian border. God's Country."

"Thanks. I've learned the Core will tell me on their own time, Alan." Christine shook Ms. Giudiceli's hand, then Mr. Reyer's. The little man's small, black eyes surveyed Christine, as his mustache moved in a perpetual twitch.

Alan yawned, "Along with these two good people, I will be a town resident, also. Lance, will be our liaison."

Carlotta tilted her head, indicating for Christine to follow. The tall woman strode with a purposeful ease toward the three-wheelers parked in a clearing.

Accepting a sports-drink from her, Christine distrustfully eyed the all-terrain vehicles, each three-wheeler was rusty with mismatched parts.

Noticing her appraisal, Carlotta laughed, "New vehicles will draw attention. Don't worry they are safe. The Core had the motors 'hopped up' a bit. Have you ever manned one?"

Christine shook her head to the negative as she swallowed her drink. Gratefully, she placed the cool bottle to her forehead.

"I thought not. Listen carefully. Hearing is impossible when you are riding behind another person. Landon Hills is an Artist Retreat. You will be working for Mr. Reyer, in his dining club. The town is completely geared to artists and tourists. There are Bistros, art shops, camps, music school…you name it."

"Are there any doctor's offices?" Christine inquired.

"You are no longer a nurse. You are an entertainer." Carlotta spoke nonchalantly.

"I can't sing a note!" Christine gasped.

"That could be entertaining…maybe not." Alan threw his hands up in surrender as two pairs of feminine eyes glared at him.

"Isn't your daughter an actress and singer?"

Christine nodded to Carlotta's question.

"So, then, the genes are there. You just have to bring them out." Carlotta waved her hand dismissively. "I am your room-mate. Don't be alarmed, I am working on being a Kunoichi-no-jutsu. You will be safe."

"Who will save her from you?" Alan quipped, while stepping out of reach of Carlotta's long legs.

Carlotta raised a dignified eyebrow, and made a moue with her mouth. "Continuing on, there will be a double, waiting for you in the house provided for your residence. Her name is Core Agent, Summer Rose." Carlotta firmly grabbed Christine's chin, turning her face from side to side. "She is much younger than you; we may have to tweak her face a little."

Alan guffawed at Christine's baleful expression. She wasn't sure she liked this rude female agent.

Carlotta strode noiselessly, and retrieved two packets from her three-wheeler. "One for you, Agent Berkley, and one for you, Agent Cousteau. Don't bother opening it here, I can tell you what it says. You both are now white clearance. Congratulations, gentlemen."

Carlotta ignored the men, turned on her heel, and continued to talk to Christine. "Summer, will be the one actually living in the house. There is a tunnel that connects it to the dinner club. You will be living below the club. Every day you go home, but return to an apartment below the club; and Summer, will be available as the happy dinner club entertainer, slash, homemaker after hours."

"To justify your presence, Agent Cousteau, you will be Ms. Daee, and Ms. Rose's significant other. This will enable you to move about freely without questions in town."

Lance laughed and bowed from the waist, "At your service Ms. Daae."

"It may sound juvenile, Ms. Daae, but in all vocal conversations and writing, you are Mother Goose. We will discuss your working identity, later." Carlotta placed a helmet over her hair.

Agent Reyer cut Christine's reply off as he mounted his vehicle, and placed a helmet on his graying head. "I will be in the dining club's apartment above you, Carlotta will be living with you, and Alan will be residing above the bar next door.

"When we arrive, Carlotta will take you straight to the house so you can meet Summer." Kick-starting his vehicle, he yelled, "We need to go; Ms Daae has spent enough time being visible in Montana's wilderness for one day."


	8. Chapter 8 A Bird in Hand

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Bird in Hand

Running his finger around his collar, Joseph was glad he wasn't that weirdo, Ratcatcher or the new guy, Darius. Becoming distracted he watched a couple at the nickel machines. He grinned when they obviously lost. Sorry about their luck. It was another c-note in his pocket.

Observing them leave from the protection of his window, Joseph returned to his thoughts. The Boss was almost certain that the other brat had been found in the river and the natives were keeping it under wraps. While interviewing the two hapless men who dumped the body, the Phantom had systematically torn the casino's basement to pieces.

Always on the prowl for information he could use, Joseph had overheard Kahn, and the Shade speculating: the body could account for the changes that had occurred over-night. The first thing that happened, Doctor Chaney had left town, leaving his clinic to a temporary physician.

Bored, Joseph Bouquet scratched behind his ear, it seemed strange, even to him, that the good doctor would leave without that Daae woman. It was obvious that he was in a hard-way-for her.

One of the men who had stumbled upon Darius, and the Rat-catcher, was missing; a brave by the name of, Michael Hawke. The other man, Leon Two Panthers, had not gone to work, staying home with his wife and daughters. The family had handed out flyers stating that the kid, Brian Deer Tracker, was missing. Could it be a ploy? Even so, Two Panthers had over a dozen well muscled kin staying with him.

The old medicine man, Robert Man Bear, could be heard chanting steadily. For over twelve hours now, he sat enclosed in an old stick hut. Those people that Shade and himself had questioned stated that the old man was grieving for his grandson, Jackson.

Relying on surprise, they used the same excuse he had given to that old crone in the truck. He and the Shade, under duress he might add, had barged in. The Shade preferred subterfuge, but had given in. Feeling professional in his uniform, Joseph had proceeded to question the old man.

Joseph angrily rubbed the stubble on top of his head. A funerary urn resided in the place of honor by the medicine fire. In answer to one of the Shade's questions the elderly man took a leisurely drag on his pipe. Then pretty-as-you-please, the stupid old fart had thrown something into the fire, and thereby singed what was left of Joseph's hair completely off.

Of course, when they returned, the Boss, didn't buy the idea. Too convenient, he said. The urn more than likely did not hold the youngster. Unfortunately, _he_ had disposed of the only person sure about the cremated individual's identity.

The Old Man Upstairs must have had it in for the Boss that night. Joseph snickered. Feeling vindicated, he thought Murphy's Law had been the order of the day.

He had taken most of the disappearances well, for the boss, that is. What really had the masked creep in an unholy uproar was that nurse Daae, the one the Cherokee called Angel, had disappeared. She evidently didn't go home that night and hadn't been seen since.

The Phantom himself searched her house, finding nothing amiss, slow-cooker still on, food scorched, fixings for tea ready on the counter, and a wad of money in an envelope hid in her sock drawer. Wonder what happened to that cash? Yeah. He could have distributed those bills to the men. Selfish bugger.

Picking his teeth with a knife, Bouquet wondered why the Boss wanted this woman so badly. That Persian, Kahn, probably knew. If he didn't know better, he would think those two men had a ..what did his niece call it? A _bromance _going on. Nah. Joseph shuddered. The boss was too cold and narcissistic to care for anyone, not to mention downright scary-looking. Even Kahn wasn't that hard-up.

Complacency over Deer Tracker's body staying undiscovered might have allowed the Daae woman over a twenty hour head start. If Man Bear was alive he probably warned her late Wednesday afternoon. Were the Indians smart enough to pull a switcheroo on the Boss? Joseph made a moue with his mouth. Could be.

Trying to get in good with the boss, he had contacted an old crony. Gordy had taken a bribe, dodged his parole officer, and surveyed the airport. He reported that the doctor had boarded by himself and headed north-east to Vermont. The nurse's name hadn't shown up on an airline ticket yet. That meant they needed to find that Hawke fella and Man Bear. Good chance they knew where Christine Daae was.

He couldn't win, though. The Boss was still a nasty cuss over what Joseph had considered a nice gesture. He threw a tantrum over a newcomer becoming exposed to their work. He felt sorry for old Gordon, he had a sneaking suspicion his old jail-mate was about to receive an unwanted last visit. Wiping his brow Joseph sighed, at least it wasn't his own neck in a noose.

* * *

In the basement a black suited lone figure, sat at his piano. Long fingers idly caressed the ivory keys while his nimble mind sharply dissected the past several hours. Not trusting Bouquet, he had just directed Nadir, to check out the clinic once again.

Angular shoulders shrugged. Things were salvageable. Rumors were that a Cherokee man had purchased a brand new Bronco the next county over. Where did one of the people here get the money to pay cash for a vehicle?

The Shade had promptly checked the new owner's address out. A dead-end. So far, no new trucks arrived in town. Hmmm, no new truck, and no Michael Hawke. Coincidence? He pressed a lone key, the note reverberating across the concrete walls. His instinct said ...not.

Unfolding his tall body he effortlessly moved the piano and pulled a manilla file off the underside. Removing his leather gloves, he proceeded to untie the string. Turning it over he spilled the contents on the piano's gleaming top.

Mismatched eyes scanned the numerous faded headlines. Newspaper clippings memorized long ago. 'Woman cured of stage-four cancer'. 'Child lived after being backed over by a car'. 'Ebola virus stopped'. 'No deaths reported in tsunami', 'causalities light in earthquake'; the clippings went on and on.

'Israel's prime minister denies existence of super-humans'. 'Does Britain have their own Clark Kent'? 'Hidden compound houses victims'. 'The United States participates in genetic weapons testing on live human subjects'.

Picking up a faded letter he reread the foreign language scrawled in a spidery script, "I'm sorry to report, your wife committed suicide after delivering your son. His birth defects were too much for her unstable mental condition to cope with. The St. Helena home for children will be glad…"

Eyes accidently coming to rest on a color photograph, the Phantom allowed the note to slide from his fingers. Gazing at the familiar picture he noted the smiling subject staring back at him. A tiny, young brunette held a baby in a sling. An older man with the same curly hair stood behind her carrying a violin case. He had noted jungle plants in the back-ground, and a shiny-faced, ebony native shaking hands with the girl.

He had this picture in his possession for over twenty years, and the girl was embedded in his mind. Pulling a wallet out of his pants pocket he pulled out a laminated picture. The same girl smiled back at him. This time, she was with a young red-head in a soldier's uniform. He compared the two pictures. He had taken the other one from a target, twenty-two years ago. The boy should have died immediately from the wound he received, but lived long enough to whisper, "Picture. tell...love her."

He didn't know why he kept the first picture to begin with. Maybe it was the question of how did the soldier live despite his fatal wounds? Was it to allow his young wife the comfort of knowing he loved her? To cherish that his last thoughts were of her?

Tapping the picture on his palm, the Phantom, sneered. How would the young man have felt, if he knew that his pretty love was the reason for his demise? She had allowed powerful people to learn of her 'gift'. A soldier-husband was one less person to count her as missing.

The boy's eyes had plead with him before his lungs took their last breath. No remorse felt, his job was complete. As an afterthought he had taken the photograph with him, and escaped detection by the guards.

A familiar feeling, like an old enemy, twisted deep in his core. He wanted what that fresh-faced boy had. When this was over with, he would finally be free to try and obtain what he so desperately yearned for. A wife to take out strolling on Sundays, and a child to put to bed at night. Someone's name to whisper with his last breath. A normal life.

A small voice murmured in the back of his mind, 'even at her expense?' Gripping the photograph between his fingers the man stood up. Perusing the small upturned nose and crooked smile he shook his head to the affirmative, yes, even at her expense.

Carefully replacing the picture back in his wallet, the Phantom reached for another paper. As was his habit, beginning to pace, he read, "In a drug-raid this past Thursday, a man was heard screaming he'd make a deal: he knew where the healer was! This so called, medicine woman, had helped during the earthquake. Healer? This writer asks, what will convicts say next to avoid arrest?"

Picking up another picture, the Phantom rolled his eyes at the pretty girl holding a microphone on stage: she was the baby in the picture-all grown up. An almost complete replica of her mother. Except her eyes were a deep blue. Another, was an old photo of Miss Universe: Meghan Giry, the Angel's, childhood friend.

The next one was of Dr. Chaney. An unfamiliar knife twisted in his stomach. Dread? From what he heard lately, this man was the Angel's amour. The Phantom curled his lip. The good doc could have her as soon as_ he_ was done with her. If the man could find her.

The last one was of the late, Special Services Agent, General Gustave Daae. Shame about Daae, he had a rare gift for playing the violin. The Phantom had refused to take on that target. Superb music was a rarity, and music was akin to his god. He would not be the one to end the man's life, thus snuffing out the music. Someone else did, anyway. What a waste.

Running a thin finger over the girl's visage, narrowed eyes soaked up the sparkle in hers. Gingerly, he placed the photograph back in the envelope. Leaning a thin hip on the piano, he flipped open his phone. Absently, he pushed a speed-dial button. "I will have her before a week is out. Be waiting with the money. No, I will contact you."


	9. Chapter 9 Lets Tell A Story

**I have to apologize to my readers. I have returned to earlier chapters and tried to correct some grammatical errors. This did indeed change the plot hints (not the plot itself) in places. Since I am learning this fanfiction business, I may do that a lot. Please feel welcome to reread any earlier chapters while waiting for an update. I do not own any characters you recognize except for the ones in this plotline. I really appreciate all your nice and informative reviews! They make my day.**

CHAPTER NINE

Tell Me A Story

"The last I saw her, she was fine." Raoul enfolded a shaking Connie in his arms.

"Last you saw?" Meghan quickly snapped her mouth shut at Raoul's warning look.

"Connie, sweetheart, what can you tell me about the Core?" Raoul asked, leaving her hand in his.

"Let me answer that question, Dr. Chaney," a deep voice spoke from the back compartment. All eyes turned to find the guard who had allowed Raoul and Michael entrance striding confidently into the room.

"Aunt Meghan Giry, Doctor Raoul Chaney, Michael Hawke, this is Core Agent Zane Dugan. He has been with me since I left Mama at the Reservation," Connie smiled wanly.

Agent Dugan pulled up an ottoman, using it to sit on. "Let's all get comfortable. This is going to take a while, and it is a lot to digest." Speaking into his microphone he ordered, "Make a sweep and keep the perimeter clear."

Connie offered the agent a drink, and he accepted it gratefully. He had actually worked for movie-stars before and Miss Daae was a breath of fresh air.

Suddenly sitting up back straight, Agent Dugan spoke into the wire, "Now, would be a good opportunity: keep a good eye out."

Gray eyes somberly perused the group. "The Core is an agency that was formed to protect a certain small population of society. Christine Daae and thirteen others are a part of that milieu. Most of this interesting group reside in communities where the government can monitor their safety."

Meghan, mouth agape, tipped her glass of tea on her blouse. While Connie jumped to her feet in order to help her clean up, Agent Dugan continued.

"When we say most of the group; that includes all known members except for a rogue in Europe, and Christine. We have nine affiliates here in the United States, the others are in Britain and Israel.

"This particular population of people are what some would call, for a lack of better wording, 'gifted'. They have varying resources inbuilt into their physical and mental persons that enable them to heal the human body. Some have other smaller gifts that go with the healing.

"Since 1800, the United States has sequestered 'Healers' from the rest of the world. After much thought, our Founding Fathers, decided no matter how much their talents were in demand, allowing the secret to leak out could be catastrophic."

Raoul could feel a massive headache coming on. He squinched his eyes and asked, "With all the diseases that have decimated millions, they weren't allowed to try to stop them?"

Agent Dugan nodded grimly. "We almost brought them out during World War II. Hitler, was very close to discovering our hidden Allied Secret. The Aryan Race he obsessed over, was a cover for people with varying differences, such as self combustion, E.S.P. and the like."

"Help me to understand." Meghan's gaze darted between Agent Dugan, and Raoul. These people could have changed the course of history for the better, and weren't allowed to?"

Michael spoke somberly, "No offense, Miss Giry, with mankind's track-record, they more than likely, would have been forced to become living weapons."

Silence permeated the room. Feeling shell-shocked, Raoul asked tightly, "What does this have to do with Christine? Why isn't she in a compound?"

Before Agent Dugan could speak, Michael interrupted thoughtfully, "Living on x-amount of land and not being allowed to leave, isn't what it is 'cracked up to be', Doc."

Zane Dugan nodded in response to Michael. "Yes, though the government's track record speaks for itself. Because of recent reports, we are all well aware of the Japanese prison camps situated out west during WWII, and the Native American Reservations still in use today. But feeling imprisoned is not the reason she isn't living life under twenty-four-seven government protection.

"Christine Daae is unique even among the unique. She is the granddaughter of a healer as well as the daughter of one."

"The General?" Raoul sat up straight.

Dugan smiled, "No, General Gustave Daae, was a military genius with a gift for music, but not a healer."

"It was Grandmother." Connie stated.

"Yes, your mother inherited the recessive allele from Ana Marie. Not only did Christine receive mitochondrial DNA from Ana, but the process of recombination ensured she was blessed with another gene, donated by your great-grandfather. She is the strongest healer known since the apostles of Christ, on written record."

"What about…?" Connie swallowed.

"Yourself?" Agent Dugan asked, smiling indulgently. "Other than having the immune system of a horse, you don't carry the healing gene."

"Can Christine raise the dead?" Meg asked, a hand to her throat.

Agent Dugan burst out laughing, "No, she's not quite that good! Though it gives one pause as to why the American Indian refer to her as, Angel."

Raoul growled, "Just how_ good_, is she? What kind of danger is she in?"

Zane Dugan felt a pull of pity for the doctor. The physician was definitely in love with Ms Daae. "She can heal on contact with a patient. A lot of 'healers' can lay-on-hands and heal, but Christine can see or sense the disease or injury within the body. She is like a human x-ray machine."

Remembering Jackson; Michael whistled, "Wow!"

"Yeah, Wow. Bare with me, and imagine a new Hitler, or Saddam Hussein, having obtained the healers. In your mind's eye try to picture a war. Now, picture the enemy medics healing their wounded within minutes and releasing them back in the fracas, and winning that war." Dugan said, grimly.

"We have the others in the compound, at this time only to study them, and keep them safe. Our scientists want to discover the recombination availability on the gene. The United States is determined to replicate it before anyone else. Even though abnormal and potentially deadly, the abilities of these individuals are now considered limited."

"Why," Meghan quiered.

"Why limited? There are robots out there that can do the job of a soldier. Cloning is being pursued pretty heavily in warfare technology. There are other classified weapons. These people may have gifts but they too, eventually die."

"No, why Christine," Meghan repeated.

Connie licked her lips, "I can answer that one, Aunt Meghan. The rest of the world has pretty much the same knowledge we do-by studying the group with weaker 'powers'. Why double up on the same knowledge? Mama would be a coup.

"In fact, that is how we lost my Grandmother. General Daae left her at the compound with Mama. Grandmother had begged to go with him on a classified mission for the President. The General felt she would be safer in the compound in his absence.

"He had no idea that a terrorist group had prepared to attack. Grandmother instructed a young, unprepossessing janitor to take Mama to safety. She hoped correctly that no one would want to stop a janitor. Ana Marie, stayed to throw them off Mama's track. A rookie terrorist, not knowing she was one of the targets, shot grandmother. Her body was never retrieved.

"Blaming himself, Grandpapa swore that Mama would never know the inside of a compound. He raised her as a normal American girl. But there was a catch, just like Sleeping Beauty and the spindle.

"Not knowing she had this ability, her gift came out in the open unexpectedly.. Soldiers at the army hospital that were predicted to die-lived, despite multiple negative prognosis,' from different doctors. Mama didn't know she was the reason."

"During this time, Gustave...I mean, Gaston Reeser, was killed. What is it with all these G-names, anyway?" Agent Dugan interjected.

"Gaston Reeser?" Michael asked.

"My real name. We haven't gone by it since the first time the Core had to hide us." Connie informed him.

"The terrorist group posed as F.B.I. agents hoping to lure your mother peacefully. Thank-goodness for your grandfather's impeccable instinct." Zane Dugan replied.

"The government is sure your Father's death was secondary to clearing the way to capture your mother's abilities," Agent Dugan spoke.  
"A complete investigation showed that no other American soldier had fired his weapon that evening. It was a sniper job, and whoever shot your father, escaped cleanly and absconded with the picture of your mother Private Reeser always carried."


	10. Chapter 10 Welcome Home

CHAPTER TEN

Welcome Home

Christine clung tightly to Alan's waist as the three-wheelers careened over ravines and splashed through streams. They startled a herd of white-tailed deer, Christine flinched as one jumped over their heads, a sharp hoof barely missing Carlotta's helmet.

She watched as Carlotta threw a grin Reyer's way and revved up her motor. Breaking off from the other two vehicles, she tipped her three-wheeler on its back wheels.

Christine felt the excitement radiating from Alan as he gunned his vehicle's motor and rode after her, passing an indulgent acting Reyer.

Shaking her head, Christine thought, 'And back at the reservation, Raoul said, I didn't get out much? These guys act like horses put on pasture in the spring.

Around sunset they pulled up in front of a ramshackle barn with a leaning silo. Christine caught her breath, in the ensuing silence, the sunset broke from behind the mountains to bathe the buildings in watery purples and yellows.

"How's that for drama?" Alan murmured, nodding to the shifting colors.

Christine felt a sudden affinity for her new acquaintances, each one drinking in the sunset, lost in their own thoughts.

Carlotta cleared her throat and started pushing her vehicle in the barn. In silent camaraderie, the men helped her camouflage it with old hay bales.

"Myself and Alan will ride the rest of the way in town. Carlotta will have to help Mother Goose finish up on foot, as not to attract attention." Reyer handed Christine her backpack. In minutes the two men had disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Carlotta pulled a small flashlight from her pocket, and started toward the silo.

"Where are you going?" Christine frowned.

Carlotta opened the rickety silo's door.

"Oh, no. That thing is an accident waiting to happen." Christine dug her heels in muleishly.

Carlotta sighed, "Look inside." She beamed her light into the interior.

Christine stepped around the other woman to gingerly peer in the rotting door. Following the flashlight's beam she noticed that the ceiling and sides had disguised reinforcements. Spider webs and strands of dirt hung off poles that upon closer inspection didn't show any signs of deterioration.

"We will be walking underground the rest of the way to meet with agent Rose. Old under ground river caves criss-cross a majority of Montana.. It won't be flat for long, there will be inclines and in places barely room to fit, but we will get there." Carlotta yawned. "Excuse me, but it has been a long few days."

Feeling foolish, Christine hefted her backpack and followed the other woman. In the back of the room, a worn corn chute encased in spider webs caught her eye. Carlotta stepped up, tore the webs away and placed her legs in the opening. Not giving Christine time to speak, she leaned back and pushed off into the interior.

Left in the dark, Christine listened for any signs of Carlotta. Silence greeted her. Shoving her backpack ahead of her, Christine stepped up. Resisting the urge to yell, Cowabunga! She pushed off with her hands.

Expecting sharp pieces of corn kernels to flay her alive, or razor like pieces of metal to dice her into cubes, Christine raised her eyebrows at how smooth the chute was. Within a space of a minute she landed on her feet in a musty room.

Carlotta handed her a small light and placed a finger over her lips. Whispering she advised, "Echoes can be heard in drinking wells and near underground springs". Swinging her helmet she turned down a tunnel. Christine followed Carlotta's quiet example, cringing when she accidentally kicked loose pieces of gravel.

They walked for an indeterminate amount of time, and stopped before a rusted metal door hewn into the rock. Beside the door was an old water pump. Carlotta lifted the handle and Christine saw a computer thumb port taped underneath. Sliding the thumb-port into a door hinge, she waited as a beeping noise ensued, emitting four tones. Carlotta stepped back as the door opened.

Motioning for Christine to proceed her, Carlotta closed the door. Inside, the door was not visible. Christine ran her hand across the wallpaper; unable to find an opening. Pulling an obviously fake light switch forward, the agent hurriedly dropped the thumb-port between it and the wall. She quickly closed it up.

" If it wasn't closed within twenty seconds an alarm would sound at headquarters. It will take a while to learn all the computer keys. The Core will replace that one tonight." Carlotta nonchalantly informed an obviously confounded Christine.

"About time ya'll showed up." A feminine voice spoke from top of a set of stairs. "Come on up and share a cup of tea with me."

Christine followed Carlotta up the set of rough-cut basement stairs. They led into a small 'L' shaped kitchen decorated with cow figurines.

Christine felt queasy. Standing in front of her was a replica of herself. Summer had long dark curls, parted in the middle that brushed her waist. She wore a lavender sprigged top and blue-jean capris on her five-foot-three frame. As much as her daughter resembled her, she didn't look like a plastic clone.

Holding out her hand, the woman pursed her lips. "Must be unsettling to see a wax doll of yourself. Hello, I'm Summer Rose, and you are Christine, Christine Daae."

Christine had to snort at the woman's rendition of 'I'm Forrest, Forrest Gump'."

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "I'm surrounded by amateurs. You two get to know each other and I will fix tea."

"I know this isn't intended as your living area Christine, but allow me to show you around so you will have at least a working knowledge of the layout anyway." Summer linked arms with her look-alike and started down the hall. The bath was spartan, done in light green and sea-shells.

Next was a small bedroom made into an office. All the floors were hardwood. The second bedroom was the master bedroom done in gray and maroon. The living room had a small stone fireplace with a gray microfiber couch and rocking chair.

The walls were all painted barn wood. Motioning for Christine to stay out of sight, opening the front door Summer gestured to a wrap around porch with a pair of white rocking chairs. A set of French doors led into the office. A profusion of flowers lined the small back yard.

Leading back to the kitchen, Summer tilted her head and studied Christine. "I'm sorry for the basic décor, but since you have spent your entire life in jungle huts and church housing, we weren't sure what your tastes were."

Carlotta placed a steaming cup of white tea in front of Christine, a cup of mint for Summer and peach for herself. Christine wasn't surprised that Carlotta knew what her favorite flavor was.

I've been here since the incident, and in order to have you seen around town, I took the liberty of starting a flower garden. I hope you enjoy my selection." Summer took a sip of her tea.

"Tourist season will be starting up the end of this week and most of the vendors have their booths out. Might be a good idea to go with Lance around town tomorrow and learn the town's layout."

"When finished 'sight-seeing', Reyer expects to see you at the Dinner Club at three, for tryout," Carlotta interjected.

Christine strangled on her tea. Summer pat her back until she quit coughing. Carlotta leaned back with her arm linked over her chair's back. "Still worried about your singing ability, Daae? A few days with Reyer and he will have you in ship-shape."

Narrowing her eyes, Christine asked, "Why do I suspect there is something you aren't telling me?"


	11. Chapter 11 Good News

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Good News

Hanging up the phone, the Phantom replaced the manila envelope under the piano. Perching once again on the bench, his long fingers released a melancholic tune into the room. Faster, faster and faster his fingers began to fly across the keys. His wiry shoulders rose and fell in concert with the melody. His eyes slowly drifted closed and the tenseness in his lower jaw relaxed. Music. Music was his life, and his soul. His alpha and omega.

His mind started to wander. The beginning and the end. Not for much longer. That place would be taken by a corporeal body. One whom he could stroke, and make a very different kind of music with. He would memorize that instrument and wring every happy sound possible from it. Perspiration began to bead his thin upper lip, as his breathing became heavy: their notes would soar to heaven's very door and float down on satiated gossamer wings. The Phantom's breathing had become erratic. Attentive ears heard the clicking of the outside door, and his mind returned to the present.

Looking up he noticed, Nadir. The Persian had marched over to the bar and proceeded to fill two glasses with ice. Watching his friend the Phantom changed tunes to one less personal.

He stopped playing when the other man offered him a glass. Nadir strode to the fireplace and sat down in one of the wing chairs. Taking a sip from his glass, the middle-eastern man drew his lips into a straight line, savoring the taste of his drink.

Raising a curious brow the Phantom almost smiled. His friend looked like a teen trying to gather the courage to confess a major behavior infraction. Nadir was over ten years older than himself and silver had started rooting out the black strands above the Daroga's ears. Though he would never admit to it, recently his gait was slower and his annoying style of wit, sluggish.

Nadir lifted the glass, swirling the contents in ever-widening circles. Jade eyes stared into the amber contents. In one gulp he threw the rest of the drink back and sighed. Sometimes being the self-professed conscience for the damaged younger man was daunting. Facing the man by the piano, he gathered his courage.

Erik's interest was piqued. Despite his age the Daroga was usually very eloquent in speech. He must fear for someone's neck with the news he carried.

Nadir scanned the full faced white mask. Sometimes he wondered if the mask was more the other man's identity than what was under it. He had known him since he was a police chief and the Phantom, a fifteen year old surviving on the streets of Onir. Nadir was well aware of the murderous temper simmering not far below the calm persona he presented now. How had he signed on as this man's unwanted and under valued keeper?

"Now Erik, I would appreciate it if you stayed calm until the end of my report." Nadir ordered.

Speaking rapidly, the former policeman reported his findings. "There are steps in the janitor's closet that lead out to the roof. Old cleaning rags covered the rungs. I lifted them and found dried blood stains. I guess Doctor Chaney forgot to clean the rungs after finishing with the examining room. The ladder leads to a trap door on the roof. I climbed up there and found partial shoe prints along the shingles.

"Whoever it was climbed down the barber shop's fire escape. I found a partial shoe print behind the dumpster. I couldn't find any more prints, but there is a well used path that winds through the woods. There weren't any clues on the path, but the trail leads right out to the houses on Blakemore Road.

"Christine Daae's house is the closest. I didn't find anything else. She must have left by vehicle on the road. You know Erik, you don't have to go through with this."

Ignoring Nadir's gently placed request, the masked man stood up and quickly began to pace. "Bouquet said there were only two people on the road around dusk that night. How could he have missed her? Wait…"

Nadir shivered at the dark chuckle that emitted from thin lips. "He said a horny old crone and her grandson. Rich. No doubt it was Ms. Daae and whomever helped her escape. We know where one of the two teens are, and where Two Panthers is. That leaves Hawk and Chaney. We also need to find out for sure which teen was in the crematorium.

"Daroga, a brave paid cash for a truck in the next county and gave a fake address. We need to find out what Hawke's old vehicle was and see where it is now. I would like for Shade to go back to that dealer and show Hawke's picture to him.

"I need for you to find Bouquet, André, and Firmin. Bring Bouquet here as soon as you find him, and the others in my office in the morning."


	12. Chapter 12 In the Mist

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hidden in the Mist

"I expect my casino, and especially my theatre run according to _my _specifications," growled the Phantom. "Listen carefully, there will be one chance, and one chance only. Any deviations upon my return will be dealt with."

The two managers swallowed, they had worked for the 'Phantom' before, and counted themselves among the lucky ones. Several of their business partners from earlier ventures were never heard from again.

"We have your itinerary, and have already sent out the inquiries for talent," stuttered the shorter of the two men.

"For your sake, I hope so, Andre," the unnatural voice hissed. Tilting his head, the masked man leered, "I commend you on your lovely new wife, Andre. I didn't know you had it in you. Oh, and Firmin, please stay vigilant around Goldberg, I hear the Russian mob is watching his movements carefully. It wouldn't take much for them to take offense, no?"

"Yes, sir, we understand, sir," Firmin answered.

He and Andre weren't idiots. There would be no type of deviation on this 'job'. Joseph Bouquet had nearly given him a stroke. The crazy coot had approached them yesterday about a venture on the side. Closing all the curtains and making a quick survey of the hall outside his door, Firmin had 'nipped it in the bud'. It was a miracle that cumbersome old man was still alive. Firmin swallowed. His sources indicated that another slip, and Bouquet's days 'were numbered'.

The Phantom tossed a cell phone on the desk. Towering over the two managers, he ordered, "_Any_ communication that you need to make _will be carried _out on this device, be it your 'honey-kins' wife, Andre, or my man in charge. By-the-way, all decisions will go through my esteemed associate, whether it is to take a leak, or hire a new ballet rat. Your movements will be monitored: any attempt to talk 'business' on any other device will be duly noted."

"But there is only one…," Andre sputtered as he retrieved the phone from the desktop.

"I suggest you and Firmin get real cozy, then. Happy Honeymoon, my regards to the new bride." The Phantom chuckled darkly, opening the door in dismissal.

* * *

Nadir found Erik in his office standing next to the window, hands crossed behind his back. It had rained earlier, turning the heated atmosphere into a sauna. Steam obscured the windows throwing the scenic view outside into rippled waves of unreality. "Strange how something as simple as mist can change one's perception, eh, Daroga?"

Not wanting to get into a hypothetical debate, which he always lost, Nadir blurted out, "It was Michael Hawke that purchased the new Bronco. His old vehicle was a gray primered 1972 Ford truck. The very same one that Bouquet had stopped.

"That woman has nine lives," Erik spat.

"On top of that, our resources informed me this morning that Miss Connie Daae, is at this very moment entertaining Dr. Chaney, Meghan Giry and Michael Hawke.

"We should have acted on the assumption that Man Bear, lived to warn her." Nadir mused, hoping he wasn't signing the death warrant for Darius and the Ratcatcher.

"Assume. You know what assume means, Daroga?" Not waiting for Nadir to respond, Erik ground out, "When you assume, you make an 'ass-out-of-you-and-me.' That is what Bouquet did. Twice in one night. One, he assumed the two people in the truck were whom they said they were. Two, he assumed Dr. Chaney's story about Man Bear's death was true without proper exploration of the clinic. Imbecile."

Watching the Phantom's agitated movements, Nadir interjected with a sigh, "If we could have dredged the river without being observed, you would have done it. One piece of news I think you might find interesting, the mechanic on Chapeze Way, owns an airplane... said airplane lifted off that next morning and hasn't arrived back to the garage."

Erik's whipcord body tensed. "Get Rachel on the line, find out all flight patterns and documentation for that time period. Tell the Shade to take Darius with him and procure our friends. When he picks up Miss Daae, Chaney, Hawke and the Giry woman, have him bring them here. In the mean-time, you find us a pilot. We are going on a little trip, Daroga."

* * *

Dr. Raoul Chaney shook his head, and stared the agent in the eye. "Tell me the truth. Why did the girls keep the name Daae? It would seem to be a blinking beacon over their heads if you ask me. 'Here we are, the Daae family, ripe for the picking!' Reeser would have been less known."

"You aren't going to like my answer, Dr. Chaney. Since Christine's powers of healing are so strong, the Core wasn't afraid to use the Pentagon's plan of using them as a decoy. If someone showed interest in the obscure name of Daae, then they were someone the Core and eventually the Pentagon wanted to question.

"Core officicals worked under the assumption that if one of the family was injured, Ms. Daae could fix them. Until the murder of General Daae. It was a warning of what the government would do if crossed.

"We can't keep Christine hidden and employ decoys, for the simple reason, decoys can't heal. Without evidence of her unique ability, said decoy would be compromised. The terrorists would attack every compound known to them in search of her.

"General Daae wasn't happy with his orders, either." Agent Dugan half directed his next comment to the young woman sitting beside him. "Connie, he tried to make the three of you disappear under the grid.

"You all were caught and the Pentagon reprimanded him for his trouble. The higher-ups told him that the next time he tried, the girls would be taken from his care, and used as decoys under another commander. Not a Core officer, either. They threatened your mother with removing you from her side."

"Commendable people you work for, Agent." Raoul bit out.

Agent Dugan sighed." It beats the alternative. The Core has had it's moments like any other government group."

Changing the subject Dugan continued, "You have to commend the General for his bravery. The man waited and tried again." Agent Dugan licked his lips, looking each person in the eye. When finished he ordered, "Please keep seated all of you. I hate to say this so bluntly, Miss Daae, but General Daae didn't die of a heart attack.

" Bypassing the Core, the Pentagon waited until a time your mother was out of sight.

"Knowing she couldn't do anything once a body is clinically dead, they waited until Christine was with a woman in labor. It was obvious it would be hours before she returned to the hut. If you remember, you were teaching a primer class at that time. A native inoculated a sleeping Gustave with a new Endotoxin the government is perfecting. His heart muscle exploded without a trace of the drug."

Connie burst into tears, falling into Meg's lap. Wrapping her arms around the girl, the model rocked her back and forth. Raoul leapt to his feet, and angrily paced the narrow aisle.

Michael didn't know how to help. He listened helplessly as the girl sobbed, "Mama blames herself. She couldn't figure out why she didn't see the heart attack coming!"

Agent Dugan looked down at his hands, then stood up to try and peer out of the mist covered windows. It had started to rain and he couldn't identify anything. "You see, the gift isn't infallible. She was like anyone of us, she couldn't detect evil intent.

"A brain tumor or schizophrenia she would have noticed in the perpetrator. Evil thoughts pass most all 'healers' on by. Maybe even more so than the median population. Healers for the most part are a naïve lot, always looking to help even the most evil of humans.

"That is essentially why these unique people 'are what they are'. Why the founding Fathers decided to protect them at first, until it became politically advantageous.

"I've all ready smacked you with bad news, Connie. Please brace yourself for more. Your mother is being relocated, hence Miss Giry, Dr Chaney, and Mr. Hawke's arrival. She escaped with Mr. Hawke's help two nights ago.

"As it stands now, Leon Two Panthers has several agents posing as relatives to secure safety for his family and himself. He is working at making it look to outsiders that they erroneously think Brian Deer Tracker is missing and Jackson Man Bear has been cremated.

"Two Panthers refused to relocate his family, this was the only way we could keep tabs on them. Doctor Chaney, Ms Giry, and Mr. Hawke you are now in possesion of highly sensitive knowledge, and are answerable to the government.

"The Core wants to interview you and give you a white clearance on the issues we have discussed. Then we can once again discuss the location of Christine Daae and Jackson Man Bear."

Turning around he faced Michael Hawke. "I guess you are wondering why the Core asked for you to come here, Mr. Hawke. We need to keep you under surveillance because an unknown entity has broken through Core barriers. Because you helped Christine Daae escape, to keep you safe, we are doing what the television shows call a 'rope-a-dope'. You are now a guard in training for Miss Daae. That way we will be able to protect both of you. We can deflect hits better together than separately. We hope to wear them down and bring them out of hiding, then strike back full force.

"Don't think we haven't checked you out, thoroughly." Agent Dugan watched as Michael's adams-apple bobbed. "You aren't guilty of anything but teenaged pranks when you were younger . But if we see anything out-of-the-way, for Miss Daae's safety, we will lock you in a Pentagon guarded compound and throw away the key."


	13. Chapter 13 Not so Shabby

Chapter Thirteen

Not So Shabby

The women finished their drinks in affable silence. As Carlotta gathered up the cups and placed them in the sink, Summer excused herself and soon returned with a small box.

Knowing that curiosity was one of her greatest flaws, Christine arched her brow and ogled the parcel in Summer's arms.

Carlotta copied the eyebrow arch teasingly, then opened the tape that encased the box with a knife. Pulling out a typewritten, signed missive, she read softly, "Mother Goose will take the identity of Tabitha Murphy.

"Enclosed are identification and passport papers. She is to burn the ones she retrieved from the Cherokee village. An actress from Ohio, her grandparents raised her on a tobacco farm. Enclosed are their pictures as well as some from Tabitha's childhood.

"Able to speak three different languages..."

Christine broke in, "At least Swedish and English, Im still working on Spanish."

"She is to say..." Continued Carlotta, " She was a school teacher in South Africa. Burned out on teaching, she and her fiancé Lance Cousteau, are taking a holiday. She is here in Landon Hills to become more proficient in singing."

"More proficient? I thought, art was something most people considered pretty." Christine queried under her breath.

" Landon Hills is the host of a singing contest every year. Proceeds go to disabled high school seniors that want to go to college and major in an artistic field. The contest brings in revenue for local artists as well. The winter shuts the town down and the summer months are the only time many of the townspeople can make a living." Summer informed her as she played with the ends of her hair, as was Christine's habit.

"I thought Landon Hills was an artists retreat," Christine asked.

"The town doesn't get completely inundated with visitors. The area has so many camps and Ghost town retreats close by that most sleep out of the main town. Travel in to sell their wares is relatively short. Summer handed Christine a map.

"Mr. Reyer has outdone himself this year, he won a grant to hire a teacher for this summer's actors. At the end of the season, the last musical act standing will be taped for America's Music Scholarship Awards. The actor, singer, teacher chosen is…" Carlotta maintained a dramatic pause…"Mr. Umbaldo Piangi!"

Summer squealed quietly and jumped up and down a-la Connie Daae. Christine noticed that Carlotta seemed to look suitably impressed. Preparing for their reaction, she dropped the inevitable bomb. "Who is Umbaldo Piangi?"

"Only the best tenor in one-hundred years. You _have_ been in the boonies, girl." Summer sniffed.  
Carlotta snickered. "The Pentagon was quick to inform Mr. PiAngi that his main priority was your voice. The Core doesn't want you to win because you need to fade away into another life after the contest. The idea is to keep you in the public eye as 'Tabitha Murphy' until they can provide you with a stable life this time around.

"Once again the place will be overflowing with guards looking out for your interest but the public will only see them with other persons of interest. Gloria Evertt the movie star will be the judge and we all know she has a retinue of, how do you say it, Summer? Oh yes, I do believe hunks is the word, that follow her." Carlotta dodged a flip flop Summer kicked her way.

"But hasn't anyone listened? I. Can. Not. Sing." Christine groused, pinching the skin between her eyes.

Summer swatted her hand, "Stop that. You'll make frown lines. Something else you might have to get plastic surgery on."

"Wonderful. A lot to look forward to." Christine slumped in her chair.

Carlotta pulled a small tape recorder from the box, turning it on, she set it down on the table. Christine gasped, the recording was of her singing lullabies to Connie. The Agent forwarded the tape and a copy of Christine singing Christmas carols met her ears.

"Who said you couldn't sing, Mother Goose?" Summer questioned with a smile.

"How," sputtered Christine.

Summer lifted an eyebrow, copying Christine. "You don't think Big Daddy Core isn't always somewhere near, do you?"

"I told you the genes were there, Daae. You are a diamond in the rough. You are just going to have to practice, practice, practice, to become Tabitha Murphy in all areas."

"Ok, I make it through to the end of the season, what then?" Christine asked.

Carlotta twisted her lips to the side. "The Core is working on new placements for you, Dr. Chaney, Meghan Giry, Michael Hawke and your daughter. They would like to include Leon Two Panthers but unless some top brass sits on him, that's not likely to happen.

"Meghan too? I've ruined all their lives." Christine laid her head down dejectedly on the table. "Does anyone know who wants to kidnap me?"

"Not as of yet. We know the names of some ancillary players but not the brains."

"Its getting late, here take this box, Christine, there is more you need to familiarize yourself with. We need to get you to your real apartment so all of us can call it a night."

Christine pulled her arms through her backpack and picked up the box. Carlotta and Summer pushed the desk sitting in the office to the side. Pulling up a throw rug they uncovered a trapdoor.

Opening it, Summer smiled. "Be out in front of the Bistro at nine in the morning and Lance will meet you there."

Christine eyed Summer and asked, "Where does Lance sleep?" Summer blushed. "With me, as you, but really me."

"Oooooh." Christine grinned.

"They've been an item for quite a while. Our boss was afraid he was going to loose two good agents, so he allowed them to work together on this assignment." Carlotta climbed down the trapdoor easily, and Christine followed.

'Carlotta should be Mother Goose as much as I follow her', Christine mused.

The walk underground went quickly. Carlotta came to the end of what looked like a dead-end. Bending down, she released a latch near the floor. Tired as she was, Christine couldn't hold back a gasp. Whites and pastels completed the interior.

"I think the term is 'Shabby Chic' décor. Well worn antiques given new life. We know you have an interest in antiques and I hope you add to these during your stay. The Core wants you comfortable in your transition, Tabitha."

Tabitha. That was going to take some getting used to. Christine gave a wan smile as Carlotta showed her to her room. Her white furniture meshed in with white against white walls. Pink, sea green and light blues permeated the bedspread and other furnishings. A painted cabbage rose chandelier hung to the side.

Carlotta cleared her throat, "Take a bath, crash and I will wake you in the morning."

Christine removed her boots, allowing her toes to wiggle in the soft carpet. Taking out a clean shirt and a pair of shorts from her pack, she trudged to the bath. Opening the door she sighed. The same décor permeated the room, a claw-foot tub sat to the side.

Turning on the tap, she explored the closet. Fluffy towels, and rose scented shampoos with soap met her eyes. Choosing a loofa, and gathering up the scented goodies, Christine turned off the water.

Twenty minutes later, Carlotta looked in to say goodnight, and found a sleeping Christine sprawled across the bed. Shaking her head, the hardened agent pulled a comforter out of the closet and covered her charge.


	14. Chapter 14 The Swarm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Swarm

Carlotta dejectedly moved her eggs around on her plate. "We can eat from the diner, I guess."

"I am a wiz at open campfires and can cook rice twelve different ways, but in a normal kitchen I'm a disaster." Christine hurriedly took a swallow of milk to wash her bite of oatmeal down. "At least yours is edible, Carlotta."

Carlotta grinned as she gathered up the dishes. Christine half-stood from her chair as a familiar set of notes echoed on the air. Carlotta placed a soapy hand on her arm, "Those are code chimes. Think back, they were the same at the cottage. If you hear more, less or in a different order then there is trouble. They are changed weekly unless there is a breach of security."

"Hi guys! Lance brought this over last night, Tabitha."

Christine took the parcel from Summer. Rubbing the lavender ribbon, she murmured, "It's been opened."

Summer's face heated up. "The dress, shoes, hat and purse are for you, Tabitha, and he included something for me, Tabitha-two."

"Hmm, was it body butter again, wonder what flavor this time?" Carlotta mused.

"No…it… it…Oh, heck, it was a beautiful black negligée." Summer giggled. "Inside the purse the Core left you enough money to replace your wardrobe, Tabitha."

"Get a move on and change. We have to walk back to the cottage and return to town the normal way."

Christine enjoyed the trek to town; Carlotta allowed her room to gather her thoughts as they walked. The town was a replica of the late nineteenth century, each building restored and tastefully painted.

They passed a potter's shop and the elderly woman washing a window raised a hand in greeting. They strode by a framing shop that wasn't open yet, and a bakery that caused Christine's mouth to water.

"There's Lance." Carlotta whispered, "I need to warn you that he and Tabitha hang all over each other."

"Oh, boy." Christine groaned. Taking a deep breath and breaking stride, Christine ran up to Lance and kissed his cheek, leaving pink lip marks.

"Hola, my pretty baby!" Lance picked Christine up and swung her around. "Let me get a look at that dress. Wow. I definitely have good taste, don't you think Carlotta?"

"I plead the fifth, Lance. Did the two of you sleep well last night?"

"Yes, why?" Lance asked, going along with Carlotta.

"You must have forgotten my room was close to yours." Carlotta ignored Christine's bright red blush, turned and headed toward the Diner. "See the two of you at try-outs."

Christine peered out from under her straw hat and noticed that several vendors were grinning and looking indulgently at the couple. " I owe Carlotta one for that last comment." She shyly smiled at the grinning Latin standing at her side.

"I guess you cant help but be curious. She's a wonderful woman, that Tabitha-two. She has thrown herself into her latest project. You won't find many willing to put their best face forward, so to say. Carlotta, well, she is an acquired taste." Tucking Christine's arm in the crook of his, Lance started down the wooden sidewalk.

Christine noticed that no one was near, "What kind of degree did Carlotta say she was acquiring?"

Lance stood behind her, wrapping long arms around her waist. Placing his mouth close to her ear he whispered, "She is working on being a female ninja." He laughed as Christine's grew round. Playfully snatching her hat he held it out of her reach.

Going along with him, Christine squealed and tried to reach it. "Give it back, you barbarian!" Within a couple of hours, Christine had a new wardrobe delivered to the cottage. She and Lance ate lunch at a new establishment called, 'Maude's Diner'.

On the return trip home, Christine stopped to watch an artist weaving a cane chair bottom. Young giggles and squeals sounded from the back of the store as several children rounded the corner.

Christine stopped in her tracks. She heard the frantic buzzing of what sounded like bees. Lance must have heard them too, his alert gaze scanned the eaves of the building as his nostrils flared at the sudden odor. The air seemed to become closed and fetid, taking on the smell of rotting eggs.

Christine shuddered. A familiar chill racked her body. Searching for the cause, she noticed that the smallest curly-headed boy was standing by himself, winded, unable to keep up with the others. Above his head a large, brown hornet's nest hung from a gutter.

She clutched the agent's sleeve in a clammy grip. Lance immediately gestured for the child to come forward. The buzzing started to escalate and hundreds of hornets burst from the nest as if shot by a cannon. In seconds, a moving, poisonous cloud hung over the boy.

In battle mode, Lance glanced around, no one else seemed aware of the danger. The kid's father was talking to the proprietor next door. Not wanting to scare the child, he dropped Christine's arm, ready to pull him away from the danger.

Lance's back stiffened. Did the nest fall? It wasn't there any longer. The boy seemed tired, but unharmed. The confused agent turned to ask Christine where the monstrosity had gone, when she rushed past his side.

She picked up the boy wrapping him in her arms, covering the child with a crochet shawl she had purchased earlier. Lance's eyes widened behind his sunglasses. Bursting like bubbles, hundreds of red welts appeared on Christine's creamy colored skin. Her arms and exposed legs twitched as if someone was hitting her with rocks.

Rendered harmless to the boy, the hornets angrily took their malevolence out on Christine. Finished with their work, the swarm resembled a large black hand whose fingers grasped strands of her hair, yanking viciously as they disappeared into the sky. Christine took a breath, glad to feel the child struggling against his confines.

Lance attempted to move forward to help, but his spine jarred from neck to waist. Held tightly, he could only describe the sensation being akin to walking in knee-high mud. Christine had waved him away. In what felt like hours to the Latin agent, but in reality was only a few minutes, Christine raised her head and unwrapped the child.

The boy looked up at her questioningly and she smiled, placing him on his feet.

"What is your name?"

"Bradley Morris, Mam," he lisped.

"Well young Bradley, I'm glad to have met you. Why don't you go on and play with your brothers and sister." Smiling shyly, the boy took off.

Checking out the townspeople, Lance noted that not one single person acknowledged the incident.

Christine walked wearily to Lance. He grimaced, some guard he was. He hadn't seen a single hornet attack his charge, but he had definately seen the results. The strange thing was his feet were only able to move when the boy raced off.

Taking her trembling chin in his hand, he examined the rapidly fading stings. Answering the question Lance dared not ask, she mouthed, 'later'. Taking a deep breath he looked around and asked, "It's been a long morning, love. Are you sure you still want to try-out?"

"No, I'm fine. Let's hurry before we are late." She hooked her achy arm through Lance's.

Christine gasped, startled when Lance pulled her into an alley beside the diner. He wrapped his arms around her, placing her head in his neck. "What just happened," he whispered.

Rubbing his back, trying to keep in character, Christine sighed, "The child has leukemia. Evidently he and his family are unaware. The cancer was preparing to harm him as much as it could before diagnosis. The plan was to eventually take his life."

"I saw it, I really did, but it disappeared. Hey! How did you know what a disease was planning?"

"Sometimes, not always, when a person is touching me they can see the illnesses. The only people this has happened to was my father, Raoul, and now yourself. Evidently the dirge Leon and Michael were singing for Jackson connected us in someway enabling them to see it too.

"Not all diseases or injuries are open in order for me to discern its purpose. I've noticed I can understand more when the victim is innocent like a child or a mentally challenged individual. I don't know if other 'healers' can read injuries or not."

"Are you sure you feel up to this, welts covered you from head to foot."

"Yes, Lance. I feel fine, considering that in a while, a famous singer is going to listen to me sing, and I can't carry a tune in a bucket." Christine pulled a face as they broke apart to face the diner. "I only know one way to fix the situation and I've never done that before."


	15. Chapter 15 In a Moment

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Right Moment

It took all of fifteen minutes to make the individual called Nix to talk. Erik finished pouring whiskey down the man's swollen throat. It was fortunate the full moon was hidden behind a thick cloud cover.

The beat up Chevy had settled at the bottom of the ravine without hitch. Night bugs had once again started to call after the unusual disturbance. Nodding in satisfaction, Erik contemplated his next move. They couldn't afford another murder to show up on the reservation. The outcropping of rock was just what they needed.

Erik watched the Ratcatcher wind a thick vine around the tortured man's neck, then down to one of his twitching feet, making sure it wrapped around a wrist and through his hand. It must look like he hung himself trying to climb out of the ravine while in a drunken state. He observed satisfied as Ratcatcher threw Nix's struggling body over the side.

Erik tossed the empty bottle beside the victim. Long coat flapping in time with his long strides, he returned to the black car waiting at the side of the road.

* * *

"I have another show here tomorrow, Uncle Raoul, Aunt Meg. There is enough room for three more people. Why don't you stay here tonight? We will look at things differently in the morning." Connie wiped her eyes then delicately blew her nose on Raoul's handkerchief.

She looked up as Agent Dugan agreed, "Good idea, Miss Daae. The Core needs to update Michael on basic protocol. We want him to at least look like he knows what he is doing until he is fully trained.

"If the group behind the beatings have done their homework, they are well aware that the three closest people to Ms. Daae are right here on this bus."

"I guess we've decided, then." Raoul leaned back in his seat. He looked exhausted.

"I have to leave tomorrow though, I'm scheduled for a photo shoot in France in three days." Meghan shrugged.

Connie smiled as Michael Hawke directed his answer to her, "I'm game."

"Ok, let me apprise my contact of the situation." Agent Dugan stepped out of the bus, speaking into his earpiece for the other agents to rendezvous.

* * *

Raoul turned for the hundredth time. He had slept on grass mats before in mosquito infested huts, but this narrow bed was worse than those. He sighed. Outside the occasional wail of a siren faded as the night crept slowly forward.

Staring at the ceiling, the exhausted doctor realized that Meghan must have fared about the same, she had just come back inside from smoking her fifth cigarette.

Listening to Dr. Chaney toss and turn down the hall, Michael Hawke laid awake on the living room couch. Muscled arms behind his head, he tried to place each piece of the past few days in the correct spot. Rubbing his temples, he growled, no matter how he rearranged his memories, he kept coming up with the same jumbled montage.

He had already concluded that Christine was a wonderful person on her own merit. Who wanted to do her harm? Why? Then there was the tribe to consider. He couldn't wrap his head around the 'Kaylona Alyeliski and the Maiden' story. Why did the elders bring up that old story now? Made of clay…well the bible did say God created man from dust. Crap. He was going to drive himself crazy looking for answers.

He could say one thing, Christine sure had a beautiful daughter. Connie was the epitome of the word 'starlet'. Dark hair curled on her shoulders and violet eyes rivaled Elizabeth Taylor. Slim where Christine was a mature curvy, she was hot… hot… hot…Turning over he punched his pillow. He couldn't win. It smelled like the floral perfume she wore.

When he rescued his quilt from the floor, Hawke realized the guards had changed shifts quite some time ago. 'Red' had yet to come back in. Strange, the man's partner couldn't wait to come inside and get some sleep.

Deciding that fresh air might help him relax, Michael slipped on his jeans. Opening the door he stuck a bare foot outside. A million stars exploded in his head, and everything rushed into darkness.

* * *

The Shade pat his pocket making sure the vial and handkerchief were still there. The bus was silent, he hadn't seen a guard since his arrival. He frowned. The Core was getting so complacent that they were sloppy.

Staying in the shadows, the man called Shade cautiously opened the front door. He quirked an eyebrow. The overhead security light failed to flare. Stepping inside he crouched in order to survey the interior. It looked like someone had turned the bus upside down and shaken it like a child's snow-globe.

Splintered and upturned furniture met his eyes, along with tattered curtains hanging from the windows. There were several holes in the walls along the hall. It only took a few minutes to ascertain that Miss Daae and her guests were gone.

The Shade was only somewhat relieved that there weren't any bullet holes in the walls or shell casings on the floor. Making a quick retreat outside, the young man almost tripped over an arm sticking out from under the stage floor.

Taking the time to pull the arm across the disturbed gravel, Shade realized it belonged to a forty-something Caucasian with his throat slashed. Methodically, he checked the suit pockets. Nothing. Shaking his head, he definitely wished right about now that someone else could report to the Phantom.

* * *

It had been a long flight, but Erik insisted they memorized the town before daylight. The Phantom had easily located Ms Daae's cottage while the town slept. Nadir shook his head in exasperation. His friend had been totally unprepared to find a man in bed with her. A normal occurrence for such a pretty woman. Why it would bother his world-weary friend was the question.

Nadir watched as Erik fought with himself, skeletal body tense and hands clenched. The dark intruder could easily have done away with the stranger as he slept. Nadir was grateful they didn't have a place ready to stash the woman or Erik would have done just that.

Nadir was going to remind the younger man his participation was contingent on no more murders. He knew it was a thin technicality: Erik hadn't physically committed two of the killings, but they occurred under his watch. The former police chief was afraid without his influence, his friend would use murder as an easy road to his goal.

Both men tensed as the sleeping woman scooted closer to bury her head under the man's chin. Her bow-shaped mouth lifted at the corners contentedly. Nadir observed, ready to intervene, as Erik tilted his head to better study the man. Hate radiated from the tall spectre's body. Nadir shook his head sadly, Erik's malevolent emotion was for no other reason than the chiseled angles of the man's dark, normal features; ones so unlike his own.

'What does she see in this Ricky Ricardo look-alike? Poor Dr. Chaney. He is probably waking up in chains right about now, and his love is in the arms of another man.' The Phantom sneered to himself. Long skeletal fingers motioned for the Daroga to leave, and with one last look, he followed close behind.

Erik didn't trust Bouquet too long by himself at the hideout. The old man's record spoke for itself. His men needed to rest, tomorrow night was plenty of time to tie up loose ends. He still needed to hear from the Shade before doing anything. His young student wasn't expected to report in for a couple of more hours.

The abandoned cabin was comfortable enough for a night or so until they met up with their contact, and Erik had collected his cash.

* * *

Waiting in the shadows of a pottery shop, Erik wished he could pace. Every muscle was tense. Since the moment he had taken on this mission, nothing but trouble had dogged it. The death of that teenaged boy was an accident, Darius was new and over reacted, and the Ratcatcher...well, there was no denying it, the man enjoyed killing as if it were a favorite sport. Be it man or beast.

There were too many other incidents For it to be all Bouquet. No question, he had a mole to route. To make things worse, the Daroga kept up an irritating litany regarding the need to abort. Nadir was forgetting that it wasn't healthy to irritate Erik.

Shade had made his report exactly on time. The news was abysmal. Erik shrugged. The health of the three kidnap victims weren't his responsibility. He could do without them.

Bouquet's orders were to watch the Daae woman. He could be found nowhere. With a sense of foreboding, Erik had entered the cottage once again. Disappointed, he found that the Angel and her new man weren't at home. Bouquet he would deal with later, the man had made one mistake too many.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Erik heard music drifting from an establishment down the road. Maybe the couple were taking in a show. Nodding his head toward the Diner, Erik left the Daroga to follow.

Nadir strode in and sat down at a polished table in the darker area behind the door. Attired in dress jeans and a western shirt, he passed for a member of one of the native tribes that called Montana home.

Pulling his hoodie up over his head, Erik silently joined him. A black uniformed waitress stopped by the table. Nadir ordered ice tea for the two of them. Her lackluster hazel eyes gave Erik a carless glance, not even taking a second look at his mask.

Leaving, she shrugged her shoulders. These artsy types were all weird. She should have listened to her mother and married a rich man.

Erik sipped his drink, eyes searching the crowd for the Angel. Craft vendors and artists comprised the audience. There was someone in the top with a video camera. That meant he and the Daroga would have to be vigilant. So far it trained solely on the stage.

Evidently the upcoming number was the last one for tonight. Thank goodness, the angular red-head, introduced as La Carlotta, could curdle milk.

Unimpressed, he turned with the crowd when the emcee announced Umbaldo Piangi's name. The lights dimmed and a curvy blonde joined the tenor on stage. Erik sat up straight. He hadn't paid attention to her name.

Whoever she was, she stood resplendent in a 1940's retro, sequined, red gown. She seemed rather nervous. Irritated, Erik cursed the lighting. It was all wrong, glaring on the tenor while most of her face was in the shadows. The only clear features were her red lips and firm chin by the microphone.

Back in front of the camera, Nadir had unobtrusively searched the tables while making a trip to the restroom. He hadn't spotted their target. The strains from the song 'From This Moment On', began to fill the room. Not a peep could be heard from the audience. Leaning back in his chair and sighing, Nadir was in complete awe.

Sitting back up, the Persian man felt a strange sensation skitter through his body. One he hadn't felt in years. Giving the room a once-over again, he shrugged. He hadn't felt that sensation in so long...What was wrong with him? He'd been around Erik for too long, that's what was the matter with him. Shooting a sly glance at his friend, Nadir frowned. It looked as if Erik had forgotten to swallow the tea he had sipped. That could only mean trouble.

That voice! The Phantom had traveled the world over and had never heard a voice like that. Obviously untrained, of course, but the woman had the voice of a real Angel. What he couldn't do with an instrument like that! Erik's eyes dilated. This was her! His long-awaited complement. The voice that matched his own.

He had to hurry this business with the Daae woman. He had other more important things to do now.


	16. Chapter 16 The Kitten Has Claws

Chapter Sixteen

The Kitten has Claws

"Are you sure you are Native American, Hawke?"

Michael Hawke groaned and licked his dry lips. His shoulders ached; he couldn't seem to move them for love nor money. "What happened…my arms?"

Snapping open his eyes, Hawke questioned,"What do you mean, am I sure, Doc.?" Hawke gazed around him, eyes wide at the sight of the doctor and the two women tied in airplane seats. Dr. Chaney's ripped shirt showed bruising on his ribs and both of his eyes were swollen.

Meghan's hair was fraying out of her weave and her night-clothes were dirty. He couldn't see Connie from his position.

"This is the third time this week you have let someone send you to la-la land and one of them was by a woman. I thought you Cherokee couldn't be caught off guard." Raoul groused. "You're trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey just like the rest of us."

Hawke strained to look over his shoulder as Raoul's face turned red, and a familiar voice broke in.

"Welcome, Mr. Hawke. So glad you decided to join us." The voice sneered.

"Oooh! I trusted you! Why are you doing this Agent Dugan?" Connie spat.

'Dugan?' Hawke commiserated with Connie's obvious sense of betrayal.

"Ahh, so the cuddly kitten has claws after all."

Hawke's stomach turned over as Lance Dugan took the umbrella from his drink and stuck it behind Connie's ear. The traitorous man slowly allowed his hand to trail down her face.

Leaning over, placing his hands on the arms of the seat, the fake agent smiled lazily, "Why don't we all agree that it will be easier if someone tells me where our Christine is? It would save a lot of trouble."

Without warning Connie retaliated,"You jerk." She spat in his face.

His gaze never left the angry girl, Lance calmly retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his chin, "It will," He continued, "prevent the majority of things like _this_ from happening." In one quick motion he backhanded Connie.

Hawke and Raoul struggled with their handcuffs as Meg's screams of shock and anger echoed through the plane.

Connie turned her head back to Dugan, mouth grim, eyes narrowed, she used the tip of her tongue to remove the blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

Pinning Meg with his gaze, Lance ordered, "I advise you to curb your vocal enthusiasm Ms. Giry, unless you fancy the same treatment as your friend."

Hawke gritted his teeth as Lance turned to the men and tisked, "Where are you going, gentlemen? We are thousands of feet above the Pacific Ocean. The only way out, is down."

"Where are you taking us?" Squaring her shoulders, Connie bravely spoke up.

"Well, you see, that depends on what information you can give us." Lance sat down by the disheveled woman and crossed his legs, swinging his foot in time to an internal rhythm.

"Oh, and don't get your hopes hopes up, no tracking devices or other such nonsense can follow this plane. This is a private jet, anti-surveillance and all those technical...things." He shrugged.

Darting a glance at Connie, he sighed, "I'm ninety-nine percent sure you don't have new information, Miss Daae. After all, for a few weeks now I have monitored each of your calls. You have little value to us in that arena. In reality, if it wasn't for the fact that you are her daughter, we would have no use for you at all.

"That was an interesting tidbit of information you were discussing with Mr. Hawke, Doctor Chaney. Something about a woman getting the best of Mr. Hawke? Do share."

Knowing he was a terrible liar, Hawke tilted his head to the side, hoping to enable his long hair to hide his face. Using his best embarrased voice, the young brave interjected, "Lori Shepherd drank me under the table the other night, and Doc drove me home. I don't like to talk about it much. I'm a cheap drunk."

"Yes, he was plastered. As his doctor, I am seriously concerned about his liver," Raoul cut in.

"Oh. Hmm." Lance Dugan stood up and stretched, making a show of shaking out his legs and arms. "Well, since we will be flying _several_ more hours, I think I will visit the lavatory, although it's been a while since any of you have visited the facilities, hasn't it? Come to think of it, I'll refresh this cool drink while I am at it.

"While I am gone, I suggest the four of you get together and brainstorm the real answer."

Once the man had returned to the front of the plane, Connie rubbed her mouth on the shoulder of her pajamas. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, she reflected out loud, "I think we're screwed."

* * *

Erik waited until the crowd had thinned down. Silently he melted into the shadows, he didn't want any disturbances while he observed the pretty songbird. As if watching a specimen under a microscope, he memorized every nuance. For the first time in his life he was captivated by another person. She carried herself with a natural confidence, arm and body movements graceful.

She had shapely, strong legs and the three inch heels she wore seemed an adjunct to them. He noticed right away that blonde was popular among her peers. Erik closed his eyes and savored her laugh. It was low and pleasing to his ear. Each sound a come-hither sigh to his love-starved soul. The stage light encircled her blonde hair in a halo-like aura.

Smiling brown eyes bathed his psyche in an unfamiliar warmth. A voice in the back of his mind questioned, unfamiliar? His core responded to her as if he had known her a lifetime. There was no question, this woman was Alpha to his Omega. Of course she would feel familiar. He had always scoffed at the idea of...Soulmates.

Erik blinked. Several dancers had stopped to give her a high-five. She was a natural. With his tutoring she would own any stage. He set his jaw when Piangi enveloped her tiny waist in an overly enthusiastic hug. That would have to soon cease.

The Phantom's deep-set eyes widened, he curled his body deeper into the shadows. As he stepped farther back, La Carlotta turned the corner. She stopped and surveyed the stage. Erik relaxed. She had failed to look behind her. Seemingly satisfied she hooked arms with the singer. That was close. The dratted woman came from nowhere. Irritated, Erik watched the two women disappear into a dressing room.

Erik tilted his head, Piangi was talking to someone. "I had my doubts when she tried out. But today, Magnifico! I was prepared to carry the song. She spread her wings and flew! I don't know where you found her, Señor Reyer, but she is going places!" Umbaldo announced.

'She will be 'going' home wiith Erik,' the Phantom answered in his thoughts as he followed the shadows to a side exit.

* * *

Lounging on the slate roof of the bank across from the diner, Erik waited for Nadir. It was the perfect place for keeping an eye on the diner exits. The building was higher than the diner, all three exits were visable. He had looped the security cameras to run a continuous scene. It would be easy for Erik to stay undetected now. He could follow the singer when she left the diner without problems.

Out of breath, Nadir settled himself apprehensively. The bank roof was steep. He had been ordered to find out the blonde singer's name. Erik wasn't going to like what he had to say.

Eyes trained on the diner doors, Erik dryly commented, "Getting old, or too much chocolate, my friend?"

Sniffing in irritation, Nadir hoped he could tell his findings without being thrown from the roof. "Her name is Tabitha Murphy."

The Phantom's eyes glittered brightly in the dark. Erik spared Nadir a quick glance. "Daroga, you need your hearing checked, all you do is mumble. I thought you said her name was Tabitha Murphy. If thats so, you are mixing her up with Ms. Daae's new alias."

Nadir rolled his upper lip and blasted Erik in Arabic. "I am not the one headed for the nursing home, you dufus. Your music saturated ears are what's failing. She left her purse on a chair in the wings and I took a look-see. Her. Name. Is. Tabitha. Murphy."

Nadir eyed his companion. "I understand your reasoning, Erik, regarding Ms Daae, but nothing good can come from this. You are older, more worldly, even charasmatic when you want to be.

"There are some good people in the world who will not let your face influence them. Find a woman on other merits than her voice, you've set the bar too high, and narrowed the field to an unreasonably small group.

"Even though we haven't discussed it, I know you have always waited and dreamed for a woman like this. We have been friends a long time, no? You still need to procure the Angel of Healing first.

"Let us take the easiest scenario. What if this singer just knows Ms Daae, she borrowed her purse or something of that nature. That complicates things ten-fold. The little entertainer isn't going to appreciate something happening to her friend. All the more reason to abandon this ridiculous..."

Erik hissed a warning, and Nadir immediately stopped. Ambling down the alley two men were conversing in low tones. Every so often they would examine darkened doorways and behind garbage cans.

"Ok Bouquet, here is half. You'll get the rest when you deliver the target, and prove that that damn aberration of nature, The Phantom, is dead."


	17. Chapter 17 Spider Sense

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Spider Sense

**Hello everyone! Just a reminder that I am still going through previous chapters trying to correct grammar errors. It may have changed plot hints somewhat but not the plot itself. You might want to reread while waiting for more .**

Locking the door, Carlotta held her finger up to her lips. Pulling a gun from her thigh holster she leaned against the door to listen. Pointing to the antique mirror in back of the room, she gestured Christine forward.

She watched Christine work the lock, the mirror slid forward and her charge disappeared behind it. Quietly unlocking the door, Carlotta followed Christine.

* * *

"I didn't see anyone, just the tweaking of my sixth sense which has kept me alive on several occasions these past few years." Carlotta paced the living room.

"This is quicker than what we thought," Reyer mused.

The door chimes sounded and Summer answered it. Swinging it open she allowed Lance followed by Alan to enter, guns at their sides.

"We didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. The cottage is secure, for now. We cleared the site all the way to the barn." Lance spoke to the room, but had eyes only for Summer.

"You sure your 'Spidey Sense' wasn't out of control, Carlotta?" Alan smiled at the pacing agent. He raised his hands as she turned to lambast him. "Whoa, just kidding. We have to thank the stars for your Ninja training. Even though we didn't see any thing suspicious the cottage security cameras have been tampered with, so there is indeed cause for concern."

"You and I need to go upside and procure some landscaping materials. 'Tabitha' needs to place some well situated rocks and garden gnomes before daylight. We will have to drive to one of those twenty-four hour mega stores," Lance informed Summer.

"We did a complete sweep and didn't find any bugs," Alan added.

Reyer held up a finger, silence ensued as he readjusted his ear piece. "There is a message on the handheld device, Carlotta."

Striding to the kitchen, Carlotta opened the bread box.

"Seriously. Bread box Carlotta," Alan teased.

Looking sheepish Carlotta returned, "Would you have looked under a loaf of half eaten wheat bread, Agent?"

"Message, please," Reyer groused.

Christine held her breath as Carlotta scanned the device. Looking up, Carlotta handed the device to Reyer, and sat down beside Christine.

"Daae, Chaney, Giry, Hawke… disappearance 04:45… Vermont… amphitheatre grounds. Agent Williams dead, Agent Dugan, Agent Polen MIA," Reyer read.

As the others dwelled on lost comrades, tears welled up in Christine's eyes. Summer sat on the other side and clasped her trembling hand. "I should have let them take me. Now who knows what danger my baby is in? Not to mention Meg and Raoul!"

"Can't be any talk like that leave this room, Tabitha. Even though we understand, your vow not to abdicate for any situation is the _only_ reason you aren't in a specially guarded bunker as we speak." Reyer's mustache twitched faster under his stern admonition.

"We have to wait for our orders. Lance, Tabitha-two, go get that gardening equipment. Be sure to come up with an excuse as to why Tabitha wants to put them up in the dead of the night.

"Alan, stand guard at the bird's nest. Use a sniper gun if needed. Looks like the situation warrants round the clock surveillance. Carlotta, Tabitha, carry on as planned."

"Tabitha, you wow'd the audience tonight, how long have you been able to sing like that?" Hand on the door knob, Alan questioned the sobbing woman.

Lifting her head from Summer's shoulder and sniffing, Christine wiped her eyes on a tissue. "It is something I've never tried, in fact never thought of before. Eyes are supposed to see, fingers move, stomachs digest: well, I had never considered that a larynx was created to carry a perfect note."

Alan smirked, "Hilarious. You used your gift on yourself didn't you?"

Christine pursed her lips, "You could say that."

Carlotta and Summer spoke at once."When did you figure out you could do that?"

Discretely blowing her nose, Christine then answered, "Five minutes before the show."

**This chapter will be in two parts, see you later.**


	18. Chapter 17 part two

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-PART TWO

Dark silhouettes

Bouquet stood still for a few minutes as the other man's steps faded away. Turning his baseball cap around, he pat his shirt pocket. His steps felt lighter. Now he could go back to that house and wait for the Daae woman. He smiled, it wasn't as if she was going anywhere with that big Latino in her bed.

Pulling on his ear he wondered, 'Bet the Doc will have a conniption when he learns this tidbit. Wonder how much she would pay for me not to let the cat out of the bag?'

Bouquet shivered, it was sure cold for a summer night. Hunching his shoulders, head down, he ambled toward the main crossroad in town. Metal meeting brick rang on the night air. Heart pounding, Bouquet's blood flooded his face. It flushed a florid color as the noise repeated itself.

He knew that punk had a shifty look about 'em. Just let that no good lackey try to sneak up behind him and get the moolah back. He was going to find he was on the wrong side of Joseph Bouquet.

Flicking open his knife, Bouquet returned to stealthily walk toward the cans in question. His mouth dried out and his tongue stuck to the roof. Come to think of it, the other man was a lot younger than he. His ears picked up a frizzing sound. A bug met its doom on a light bulb a few doors down.

He had to readjust his hold on the knife, perspiration dripped down his neck and back. His hands were damp as his ears picked up breathing behind the trio of cans. Maybe he should throw the money down and run. He froze, cursing inside, as a cloud slid across the moon blocking his sight. He jumped, hair standing on end as a shrill scream echoed across the brick alley.

A tabby cat, claws skittering, chased a mouse under the next building. Bouquet heaved a sigh, wiping his forehead with his arm. No cause for alarm. It was dark as sin, that would make anyone jumpy. He'd be glad to get out of this alley. Man, he couldn't see a damn thing.

Looking up he noticed the rooftops ahead were awash with soft light. Turning around, he looked back up to see two glittering yellow stars hovering above the roof. Arms lifted akin to some great night-bird, it emitted a ghastly wail. He lost control of his bladder the very moment the catgut tightened on his throat.

* * *

Nadir checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Where was Erik? He never took this long in Orin; he was in and out before an enemy could bat an eye. It was a shame, but it was nothing new for the masked man to find himself in a kill or be killed situation.

The Persian watched helplessly as the Daae woman and companion left the cottage. They drove away in the Latino's 1958 Apache truck. The license plate was mud splattered making it impossible to read.

The couple sure as heck didn't leave the Diner by normal means, or he would have seen them. Speaking of seeing, he was going to have to get his eyes checked. Once again he rubbed his eyes. For the past fifteen minutes or so he kept seeing red floaters… Wait!

Scooting flat against the pitch of the roof, using his binoculars, Nadir scanned the town. There, he saw it again. Someone was keeping watch in the church bell tower. The so-called floaters were an infra-red scope light. The Angel couldn't be the target; the shooter had plenty of time, not to mention a clear shot.

Immediately crouching down, Nadir crawled to the exhaust duct. Scooting backward along the slate he carefully made sure he was out of sight of the sniper. A sharp pain lacerated his left buttock. He grumbled in four different languages, something had ripped his pants leaving a cut on his rear.

It was metal whatever it was. Watching the light pan across his hiding space, Nadir waited to unhook the material. He couldn't tell what it was by feel. Irritated at the piece of metal, he bent it over into several small circles.

Looking at the alley, Nadir muttered harder. He wasn't there yet, but if Erik came back that way he would be in the shooter's sights. Making a quick crouching dash, Nadir made his way down the bank's walls barely ahead of the sniper's light.

Keeping to the shadows he limped into the opposite alleyway. There were several taller buildings that would hinder the sniper's sight . Following it to the next road, Nadir sat at a trolley stop. Picking up a paper, ignoring his bleeding posterior, he acted like he was reading. Cautiously he punched in his number for the new untraceable communicator Erik had invented.

He wasn't disappointed. Five minutes later, looking down at the sidewalk, Nadir noticed a black-clad foot appear.

"Handy device. Works well." Erik bent and retied his shoe. He spoke as talking to himself then turned away from town disappearing into the forest. Nadir waited, made certain no one else was about, then used a different route to follow.


	19. Chapter 18 From over the Rainbow

**A/n I don't own the Wizard of Oz, Spider-Man or Star Trek.**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From Over the Rainbow

Cameras flashed reminiscent of a disco ball: The room changed to an unnatural silence as the television camera panned to a worn looking, gray-haired woman standing by a CIA liaison. The official looked down at her and nodded. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped up to the podium.

Her blue-veined hands clenched together, knuckles white, "My name is Antoinette Giry. I am the mother of Miss Meghan Giry, who disappeared yesterday in Vermont. She was supposed to be at a photo shoot tomorrow and has not arrived to prepare. This is not like her.

"Please, if you have any information call the number on the screen." Dabbing at her eyes, she stepped down.

Stepping up in her place, a well dressed couple looked out to the press. The salt-and-pepper haired gentleman spoke first. "We are Marshall and Peggy Chaney. Our son, Dr. Raoul Chaney was with Meghan Giry upon her disappearance."

Interrupting her husband, Peggy Chaney leaned over to speak in the microphone, "Please, please, return these young people, we are begging you as worried, heartbroken par…" Her voice broke and she laid her head on her husband's shoulder, crying.

A representative from Everett Enterprises straightened his tie and replaced the broken couple at the podium. "My name is Theodore Wingfield; I represent the Leroux Agency. We are the company that Miss Connie Daae works for. She is one of these missing young people. They were all sleeping in her tour bus. Our company is offering a one hundred thousand dollar reward for the safe return of their up and coming star.

"America, if you have anything to help with the investigation, please call the number on the screen."

Christine sat transfixed as she watched the news. Carlotta handed her a new tissue, the distraught mother had shredded the one in her hand to pieces. Standing by the couch, Carlotta returned to the proceedings.

The camera moved to follow a dignified Native American man to the podium. "My name is Robert Man-Bear. I am shaman of the Cherokee nation, I am a retired plastics worker, and I am a grandfather and a father. I am here to speak to you as a father. A young man by the name of Michael Hawke is also missing. He was with this group of young men and women that night. We ask you in all humbleness to return our children to us."

Christine sat back and closed her eyes, listening for Connie's name as reporters bombarded the families.

"One guard dead and two missing..."

"Hello, Mr. Wingfield, is it true the murdered guard was linked to several other murders discovered in the Cherokee Reservation? Did the Leroux Agency provide those guards?"

"Is it race related, since Mr. Hawke was there?"

"Mrs. Giry, we understand that a local bank set up an account to help post reward for the others that are missing."

"Mr. Man-Bear, our sources say Dr. Chaney's nurse has also disappeared and has not been reported missing…"

Carlotta turned the television off and threw the remote on the couch in disgust. "That's something for the records! The Core has some damage control to do.

"Come on Tabitha, let's get to practice early, heaven knows I need it. Hey, do you think you can do some of that voodoo magic on my voice?"

Christine gathered up her bag and tried to smile, "If Piangi will 'wander his traveling hands' from me to you, gladly sister."

Carlotta snorted, "He's not so bad. Just think of a big empty-headed teddy bear."

* * *

Reyer was beginning to get hot under the collar. This was the third time he had to explain to Piangi that he was not going to change the lighting.

"Excuse me Mr. Reyer, I am a reporter from WIOG, is there any way you can delay the start of the contest? Someone tampered with our equipment last night. We didn't realize it until we were setting the cameras back up a few minutes ago. Replacement equipment is leaving the station as we speak."

Reyer sucked air in through his nose, mustache whipping in agitation. "Our judge Gloria, from 'Rags to Riches' is over there, gentlemen. Do you think if you explained to her the delay and asked to interview her, it would buy us some time? Thank goodness this isn't live coverage."

"Mr. Piangi, may we interview you also?" The eager reporter grasped at the opportunity.

"You can interview me now." Piangi offered.

"Oh, no sir. I'm a college student in training; one of the real reporters will have to do that."

"Hmmf. Amateurs." Piangi snapped his fingers and stalked off the stage.

Reyer grabbed a young street comedian from the audience. "Here is your chance at stardom, son. We need a few minutes distraction. Don't blow it."

From behind the stage props, Alan yawned, "No pressure, huh, Reyer." Reyer darted a glare in Alan's direction .

Twenty minutes later, the station was still waiting for the replacements. Reyer couldn't hold the audience off any longer. The stressed owner stood on stage and the curtains opened.

Christine waited patiently for her cue. Rubbing her neck, she prayed that whatever had helped her larynx held up. She smiled; the young comedian carried himself well. She hoped Reyer gave him some stage time from now on.

She watched a confident young teen dressed in the same outfit she had on, belt out, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

She was next, singing in a quartet with Piangi as the Cowardly Lion and two younger men as the Scarecrow and Tin Man.

She made it through her first routine with the Scarecrow, singing, 'If You Only Had A Brain.'

Next was a comedy routine with the two young actors, ending with Piangi whining, "I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do. I do…"

Christine gasped in time with the audience. A munchkin clad body crashed through a ceiling tile to swing to and fro directly in front of Piangi.

Utter pandemonium ensued. Screams rent the room as patrons made a frantic exodus from the front tables. Fire! Someone screamed, as smoke trickled from the kitchen.

Before she reached Christine's side, Carlotta felt a hand on her back. The agent tumbled over the side of the stage directly under the feet of the crowd.

Fighting his way through the milling, hysterical diners, Alan rolled under the stage. Swiftly crawling, he tried to make it to the trapdoor mid-stage.

The smoke alarms now added their cacophony to the room. The lights flickered out. Reyer held his hand up for Christine to grasp. Out of the smoke another hand stunned his forearm with a karate chop, in seconds he found himself thrown against the wall.

Unable to see, Christine jumped down into what she thought were Reyer's arms. Coughing, she felt a cloth cover her mouth...


	20. Chapter 19 Small Miracles

Chapter Nineteen

Small Miracles

Darius nodded to the Ratcatcher as he hiked by his post. Opening the door he placed his back pack on the table. The Boss was up as usual. His clothing clean and pressed as always.

Erik opened the pack and placed the articles on the rickety cabinet. From the corner a loud snore erupted from the sleeping occupant.

With quiet efficiency, the Phantom set a pot of water on the old wood stove, arranging the articles to make tea and slicing open the pack of bacon.

Darius pulled a folded newspaper out from his jacket and laid it on the table. "I think you would want to read this. Is she awake?"

Erik shook his head, "I will read it at leisure after the woman wakes. Nadir must have made the chloroform replacement a little strong for her constitution."

"No, Nadir didn't make it too strong for her constitution, it wasn't meant to be held over a half suffocated victim! I thought you were going to smother her before we got out of the building!"

Darius swallowed, backing away from the Phantom, shooting the reclining Nadir a questioning look.

"I see the injury has increased your normal irritating mood, I should have known. The cut must hurt considerably, considering you are ass all over."

"Why, you over grown giraffe, why I…" Nadir stopped; there was a sound from the partitioned off bedroom.

"Darius, go outside and find more wood. Nadir, take over the bacon."

To Nadir's ear, the Phantom's voice sounded strained.

Erik washed a chipped cup, filling it with tea. He placed a lump of sugar in it and stirred. Tilting his head, reconsidering, he added a second lump.

Rolling slowly to his feet, Nadir watched as the other man pulled leather gloves over his pale hands. His anger melted as Erik straightened his mask and picked up the tea. "Choose your words carefully. Remember you just happen to be her kidnapper, and she has no idea what you want."

* * *

Christine gradually woke up. Brr, it was cold. She reached for the blanket covering her and pulled it over her head. Frowning, she suddenly realized she had a bitter taste in her mouth.

Sitting up she looked at her attire. Blue checks wove in and out of her vision. Ok, she continued to wear the Dorothy costume. She still smelled smoke mixed with the faint aroma of bacon. She must have gotten a small case of smoke inhalation.

Placing an unsteady hand to her forehead she frowned, squinting her eyes. Were those male voices in the next room? She gazed at her surroundings as her vision cleared. Swinging her legs to the side she placed her feet on the floor hoping to wiggle her toes in her warm carpet.

Christine quit wiggling her toes. They weren't warm and toasty, or encased in soft white. The small digits where freezing on a hard, cold surface…a wooden surface.

Her vision continued to clear and Christine wobbled to her feet. Feeling slightly light-headed she stared at what resembled timber walls. Looking down she noticed she had lain on a sleeping-bag on an ancient, wobbly cot.

"They must have had to relocate me." She mused out loud.

Her head cleared as she viewed wooden pegs bored into the wall. The room's only window had glass missing, and it was completely boarded up. Sunlight peeped through the cracks.

The only other furniture was an old-fashioned table with a pitcher, bowl and a small wash cloth beside it.

She poured water into the bowl and used the cloth to wash her face. Running her fingers through her hair, wishing for a mirror, she twisted it back into a braid.

Unexpected heat climbed up her spine, making her hands tingle. An electrical sensation grizzled along her scalp. Christine closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath through her nose, exhaling through pursed lips. She knew this feeling.

She had noticed earlier that the doorway was a dusty blanket tacked over the frame. Christine turned to watch as a gloved hand pulled the blanket aside. A dark-haired man wearing a full face mask ducked through the doorway. In his hand was a chipped china cup.

Christine dropped her wash cloth. Large blue scarabs by the dozens crawled over the man making a pathway across the walls and over the floors. The clicking of their legs turned thunderous in the small room.

Her breath caught in her chest and squeezed. She had never felt 'the diagnosis' so strongly before, and she hadn't seen his face. She put a hand to her mouth. The root of several duelling illnesses began with his face.

He slowly raised his head and Christine felt her heart race. The scarabs were now knee-deep, waving ebony legs and flashing indigo blue wings. Her nostrils flared as she waited. Deep set, mismatched eyes met hers.

"Hello, Christine. I hope you are well. My name is Erik."

Standing on wobbly legs, Christine stared as a patchwork of images bore into her brain. Unwinding like a snarled piece of string, she saw holographic images moving about her, including a crying child, a small mask, rioting mobs, guns, war, blood, malevolence, starvation, a whip, yearning, heartbreak, hate, and finally dissociation.

She felt herself cry out as the scarabs swept into a vortex, swirling into one giant fluctuating image. A giant hand reached out to stroke the man's head. The white mask generated a green glow.

Teeth bared, the malevolent creature rubbed its head on the mask, wrapping its body seductively around the tall stranger.

Breaking back into the blue scarabs, the entity rushed to Christine knocking her off her feet. She landed backwards on her derriere. A hundred tiny chuckles followed the bugs as they squeezed through miniscule cracks in the walls.

Erik curtly placed the cup on the table, sloshing its' contents. He should have known she would react like everyone else. All humans could focus on was the mask. Tilting his head he waited for her to get up.

She sat sprawled on the floor, scrambling to ensure the dress covered her. His breath hitched for a second. The dress did little to hide shapely legs. His eyes traveled up to her curvy body.

His gaze lingered on her graceful neck, traveling up to her shining, dark hair. Christine Daae's eyes were soft, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. The faintest of laugh lines radiated from the corners.

He didn't read fear in the brown orbs, just indignation. Even so, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her lips were soft and moist. He had to look away; he shivered, yes, he dared not look at her lips.

Should he? Erik had never touched a woman's hand on purpose before. Would she scorn his help? Curiosity got the better of him. Towering over her, he offered her his hand.

Christine's gaze traveled up, past immaculate shoes, up creased black jeans, up past a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, to meet gaze. The illnesses were dormant for the time being, and the man's extended hand-held both a challenge and a plea.

Reaching up she placed her hand in his. She shivered, his grasp was cold. Once she was on her feet, Erik immediately dropped her tiny hand. It had been completely engulfed by his long fingers.

Erik's mouth was dry. Her small digits had nested in his palm; he had felt their delicate flutter, reminiscent of a fledgling bird.

Erik frowned behind his mask. She had trembled at his touch. How was the plan going to work if she feared him?

"Where am I," Christine asked firmly.

"You are safe," he answered. In an elegant gesture he waved, "Drink your tea before it is completely cold."

His voice! She was well-traveled and had never heard anything quite like his smooth tenor, almost as if he sang his conversation. Gathering her thoughts, she answered as if talking to a child, "No, 'Erik'. I want to talk to Carlotta."

"That is not possible at the moment, 'Christine'," Erik rejoined.

"Why are you calling me 'Christine', my name is Tabitha Murphy?" Christine asked, eyeing the doorway.

"That is an alias given to you by the Core." Erik replied smugly.

"Core? I don't know what you are referring to," She answered, as she slowly edged toward the hanging blanket.

Erik jerked the blanket together, darkening the room once more. Foiled, Christine swallowed; his blue and green eyes seemed to have an animalistic golden reflection in the darkness.

"Erik does not play games, Christine Daae. I took you from the diner, out from under the watch of three Core Agents, I may add. For one purpose." The Phantom folded his hands behind his back and paced in front of the blanketed doorway.

In the kitchen placing too crisp bacon on slices of bread, Nadir breathed, "Only one scream so far. Thank you, Allah, for small miracles."


	21. Chapter 20 Peru Bound

CHAPTER TWENTY

Peru Bound?

Far more mature than her actions implied, Connie hissed, "We can't brainstorm; I'm willing to bet they have bugs back here."

Dumfounded, Raoul did a double-take when Meghan whimpered in a fake whine, "I guess they are going to leave us to our own thoughts back here, what are they going to do when they find out we don't really know anything?"

Michael nodded in approval to Meghan, quirking a brow at Raoul. Raoul, barely able to move his facial muscles, nodded in what he hoped was an imperceptible motion.

Hours later found the group shifting in their seats, in dire need of the restrooms.

Arriving at a conclusion Raoul decided he wasn't a young man anymore, and if it came down to protecting the women, Hawke would do a better job in a fair fight.

Dugan was correct, he had monitored Connie for a while, it wouldn't be reasonable to think she had information.

Meghan might be suspect simply because she had admitted she was immediately headed for France, an out of the country hideout an option. Hawke was suspect because he helped Christine escape the reservation.

He had spent eight hours a day for the last few months with Christine, thus a viable confidant. Raoul leaned his head back. The best option would be Leon Two Panther's theory of telling a lie as close to the truth as possible. He could tell that lie.

Meghan kicked frantically out and tapped his knee when the front door opened. Raoul sat up straighter, wishing his vision wasn't blurry. He heard Hawke clear his throat, and he wiggled his fingers in warning, praying Hawke would see and understand.

"Well, well, I expected to have to wear high boots in here." Dugan leaned against the back partition. "Do we have any reasonable answers?"

Before anyone else could speak, Raoul leaned his head toward the man's voice, "The others can't tell you anything, and I can tell you very little. Christine said about a month ago, if she accepted my proposal of marriage, she would like to go back to South America again. We met again in Peru as you are probably aware."

Raoul hoped beyond hope that the others had schooled their features. He couldn't see their reactions. "Maybe she flew to South America, thinking that I will remember that conversation and meet her there."

Dugan narrowed his eyes. "Peru, eh. So the rest of you don't know anything? Pulling a phone from his pocket he clicked a button and a female voice filled the air, 'Leroux Agency is offering One Hundred Thousand Dollars for the safe return of actress Connie Daae."

Shutting the cell off, Dugan replaced it back into his pocket. "My boss considers that amount mere peanuts, Dr. Chaney. What is going to prevent us from doing away with the rest of you?" He pulled a handgun from his vest and pointed it at Meghan.

"More money," Meghan answered quickly.

"Go on, I'm listening." Dugan lowered the weapon.

"Veronica Chapman Cosmetics is a multibillion dollar company, and I have earned them a large chunk of that. I am sure they are waiting for you to approach them. My mother cannot come up with that kind of money."

My father is from a wealthy family in France." Raoul shrugged thinking, 'That should dangle a proverbial twenty four carrots under his nose.'

Dugan held the gun up and swiveled to Hawke. "I bet there's no one that wants you, Indian."

Meghan quickly spoke up, "I will ask the Company to post his reward, they will if I threaten to leave and work for Venus Enterprises."

Hawke shot her a confused look.

Laughing, Dugan replaced his gun. "You are awfully sure of your worth, Miss Giry. Confidence. I like that in a woman."

He looked up as Agent Polen ambled down the aisle swinging a short chain. "Well, we don't have to decide now. Agent Polen is generous enough to volunteer in assisting you good people to the facilities. I warn you, any problems and whoever is left with me will eat my gun."

Before long it was dark outside. Dozing on and off, Hawke felt the plane start to descend. Connie and Meghan continued to sleep, and Raoul lifted his head from the headrest.

The jet came to a smooth stop. Hawke found himself blindfolded and his hands behind his back connected by a chain to Dr. Chaney. The women were bound together the same way.

Stepping down, Hawke's nostrils immediately noticed the salty scent of ocean air. His feet crunched on what was too sharp to be gravel. Broken sea shells? They walked down a couple of concrete stairs. Unnecessarily rough acting guards immediately separated him from the doctor.

* * *

Connie flopped down on the sagging cot. She looked in the next cell to find Meghan standing at the iron-barred door.

"I wonder where we are," Meghan asked.

Connie put her elbows on her knees. "I don't think we were in the air long enough to have reached Japan or the Philippines, otherwise I don't have a clue."


	22. Chapter 21 Consequences

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Consequences

** A/N This chapter will be in two episodes.**

Christine stopped in her tracks as she delicately rubbed her temples. "What did you just say?"

Erik continued to pace, head bent, hands clasped behind his back.

"Don't you stand there and ignore me, I asked, What did you say?" Christine stomped her foot, something she hadn't done since she was a teenager.

Erik stopped and faced her, calmly quirking a brow. "You left the diner in my company."

"I got that part. What I'm having trouble with is the fact I don't remember leaving with you. And, did you just say 'taken away from three agents'? Are you telling me you kidnapped me?" Her voice rose on a high squeak.

Erik took in her thunderous expression and sighed, "That is one word for it."

"One word for it? Well, I have several other words for you. I. Am. Leaving. Now." Christine scooped up her red slippers, chin up, and attempted to walk around the masked hoodlum.

Erik felt his temper started to simmer. Who did she think she was dealing with? "I suggest you desist, Madame." He shot an arm out in front of her. With a graceful step the little dynamo ducked under his grasp.

"Keep your hands off me!" Grasping the toe of her shoe, to Erik's utter shock, she drew back and hit him on his thin chest.

Erik narrowed his eyes and his left hand automatically reached for his lasso.

Realizing she might have gone too far, Christine backed up a couple of steps. "I am warning you, I'll..I'll…whack you again!"

No one hit him and got away with it, at least not for the past fifteen years, anyway. Posture stiff, Erik took a determined step toward the irate woman.

Preparing to announce that breakfast was ready, Nadir pulled back the blanket covering the door. Sailing through the air, a red shoe barely missed his head. Nadir did a double take. Erik was advancing on an angry Ms Daae, who had hopped up on the rickety cot.

"Allah save us all. What is going on in here?" Nadir cautiously dared to inquire of the rapidly escalating Erik. When he didn't receive an answer, he rushed between the cot and the Phantom.

Not skipping a beat, Erik continued to advance, forcing Nadir to retreat. Ultimately the backs of the Daroga's knees slammed into the cot.

Scooting closer to the wall, Christine ensured there was more space between herself and this new arrival. "You watch it too, shorty." Christine gathered her legs under her, hoping to jump off the cot.

Anticipating the escape, Erik reached for the woman's arm accidentally bumping into Nadir. The startled Persian sat down hard. Christine squealed as the cot's legs gave out.

The collapsing cot tossed both herself and Nadir to and fro, unintentional sailors on a sinking boat, they tried to keep from falling as one by one the legs crumbled.

Erik tried to catch the moving Christine. Each time he tried to grasp a flailing arm he was foiled, either by Nadir or the dying cot. The Phantom hissed in frustration as renewed anger washed over him.

A loud pop ensued as the frame broke. Reacting quickly, Christine immediately launched herself over Nadir. Landing on her feet she watched as Erik and Nadir tumbled to the floor; wrapped in blankets and wood. Not waiting around, she bolted out the door and picked up her other shoe, hopping from one foot to the other, placing both of them on her feet, she tore out the front door.

* * *

Arm in a sling, Reyer held an ice bag to the back of his head. He watched as Alan paced the floor. "Do sit down man you are making me dizzy."

Both men jerked startled, as the door snapped open. Summer and Lance peered inside.

"How is she," Summer asked.

"She Carlotta, or she Tabitha," Reyer mumbled.

"We'll start with Carlotta." Lance answered, sitting down.

"She has a broken pelvis. A table full of old women thinking there was safety in numbers landed on her. She is in surgery now."

"The Core has agents out looking for Tabitha, now." Alan informed the newcomers.

"How are you, Reyer?" Summer laid a hand on the older man's good arm.

"I'll be fine. The question is... how are our careers," Reyer said morosely.


	23. Chapter 21 part two Confusion

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE PART TWO

Confusion

Connie woke up, neck and shoulders aching from the handcuffed position they had endured for so many hours. Cocking her head she heard the soft snores of Meg in the next cell.

She noticed that several basic necessities draped a low stool. Man, she must have been out not to have heard anyone enter. Crossing the room to the sink, the curious girl picked up soap and wash cloth then studiously proceeded to wash her grime-smeared face. The warm water felt wonderful.

Connie studied the items for a minute. A nasty thought crossed her mind as she picked up the toothbrush. How hard would it be to make a 'shank' or whatever prisoners called them? Shrugging, she combed her tangled hair, and brushed her teeth. Unable to find a garbage can she placed her cup in the sink.

Reluctant to remove her clothes to sponge off, the wary actress washed her arms and legs that peeped out from under her shortie pajamas. Wiggling her bare feet she gave up, it would take a three-hour soaking to clean the dirt off those piggies thanks to all the vehicle transfers they had endured. She would almost bet they had dismounted the first vehicle in a cow pasture!

Returning to the cot she crossed her legs, 'Indian style', as she surveyed the room. A basic windowless, concrete square with bed, sink and toilet. Would Agent Dugan and cronies provide them with a way to clean up if they were planning to kill them? Or was it a type of last meal?

Speaking of last meal, her stomach literally roared its irritation.

"I heard that," Meg spoke sleepily. Rising from her cot with a groan, she crossed the small area of her cell. "Where did these come from?" She held up a bar of soap and a towel.

Connie shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine. I was out too." She watched Meg clean up and begin to fight with her long, tangled locks.

"Wonder how the men are faring?" Discovering that the beds weren't anchored, Meg pulled her cot up to the bars between the cells.

Thinking it a good idea, Connie followed suit. Speaking softly, Connie wondered, "Do you think Uncle Raoul's vision is better this morning, or afternoon, whatever time it is?"

Meg studied her broken nails, "Supplied with a wash cloth he could put cool compresses on the swelling."

"What about Mr. Hawke? From where I sat it looked like he had blood in his hair."

"They are grown men, honey; they will use what resources available to them."

Connie sighed, "That's what I'm afraid of. Men are such babies."

Sticking her hand through the bars, Meg grasped Connie's hand. "What caused you to become so cynical at such a young age, Duckie?"

Connie snorted. "I've been to boo-coup countries in my life, most men will act brave in public, but once they hit their huts, they grumble that they are fine. They usually act all masculine, then instantaneously become unable to attend their injuries, expecting their women to kiss their boo-boo's. The next morning in front of the village, they are ready to wage war again."

Meghan grinned, "I guess that falls under the heading of 'behind closed doors,' and all that stuff. That's probably the only time in some cultures they can let down the 'Me Tarzan,' persona."

Connie placed a finger to her lips and stood up. Meghan followed her example as her ears picked up footsteps echoing down the hall. Connie tilted her head when a tall, elegant blonde stopped at Meg's door.

The woman stood inside dressed in crisp blue pants complete with a white boat necked blouse. From one shoulder to the opposite hip draped a blue scarf with several insignia. Her feet were clad in what looked like simple blue running shoes.

Two men positioned at attention on either side of the door looked on. One was definately Zane Dugan dressed in similar attire except his shirt had collars.

Smiling, the woman introduced herself, "Hello, my name is Sorelli. You are familiar with Zane, and this is Gage. I am your liaison for your stay here and I apologize for your crude quarters. Follow me."

The guard named Gage, opened Connie's door and she joined Meg. The woman named Sorelli led the group. Connie wasn't fooled, the men acted nonchalant, but she and Meg were under guard nonetheless.

Connie tried to keep track as they walked down several halls and climbed a set of ten stairs. Sorelli's blue eyes traveled over the younger girl's ruined attire. She wrinkled her small nose, and offered, "I hope you can find something to fit in here." Opening the door she stepped back to allow the women access.

Meg gasped, and Connie turned to look at 'Sorelli,' questioningly. The room they had entered was huge. A balcony lined one whole wall where sheer curtains fluttered in a tropical breeze.

The center of the room held two large claw foot tubs and against one wall stood a table laden with fruits and breakfast tarts. The opposite wall held a rack of clothing. Standing at attention two women wearing aprons held thick fluffy towels.

"When you finish, one of these fine ladies will show you where your new quarters are." Sorelli closed the door.

"I hope you know what you are doing." Zane complained.

"And your methods gave us…what results, Captain?" His feminine companion answered.


	24. Chapter 22 A New Use

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

A New Use

Unable to stop her headlong flight, Christine barreled into a hapless Darius. Unable to see the missile in front of him, Darius, plus an armload of kindling tumbled to the ground.

Reluctant to stop. Christine continued, "I'm sorry," she yelled over her shoulder.

Erik found himself at the bottom of the pile with a dazed Daroga, sitting on his lap. "Do you mind Daroga," he snarled. Furious, he unceremoniously, pushed the other man to the floor. Jumping to his feet, kicking a splintered cot leg aside, he stalked across the floor in pursuit of his prisoner. Shaking his head, he growled. He should have used the lasso.

Darius groaned, that last piece of kindling was just out of reach. He contorted his body in an almost pretzel shape to retrieve it. Just a little more...there, he had it! Shifting his bundle, he stretched his neck to see over his burden. Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and reaching precariously under the wood, he searched blindly for the door knob.

As if he were a tornado, Erik blasted through the door knocking Darius and his cargo back on the ground. Kindling exploded into the air in all directions.

Darius fired off the first explicatives to ever leave his mouth.

Leaving the path Erik planned to cut Christine off. His longer legs made short work of her head start. He would have closed the gap faster if briars hadn't torn at his clothes repeatedly ensnaring him.

Lungs burning, a stitch in her side, Christine rested. The path forked directly ahead of her. Renewing her escape efforts, she jumped startled when with wings beating the air, a flock of turkeys took flight.

Erik bit back a yelp. Anger pulsed through his blood anew as a tree limb nearly emasculated him. If he didn't need this hellion, he was sorely tempted to do away with a woman for the first time in his career.

Christine skid to a stop barely avoiding a chilly looking creek. Wobbling on the heels of her feet, arms akimbo, she regained her equilibrium. Sighing with relief, she said a quick prayer of thanks.

Turning around, she felt her stomach drop. She couldn't believe her eyes. A streak of black emerged from the woods and was making a bee-line straight toward her!

Christine stood like a deer in the headlights. Darting frantic glances at her surroundings, she sprang into a run. She couldn't go forward, and she couldn't go back. She decided zigzagging in a vertical direction away from the path was her best option.

"Oh no you don't." Erik ground out between clenched teeth. He doubled his speed and reached out to grasp a handful of her dress.

The woman was obviously panic-stricken. Screaming, she threw her arms around him causing him to wobble.

Erik's eyes widened. He didn't have time to brace himself for the inevitable fall.

Tired of staying at the post, Ratcatcher shimmied down the tree. He had seen the woman plow hell-for-high-water down the wrong path. Anticipating a good chase, he frowned when the boss had barreled through the woods.

'Uh,oh too bad for the woman'. He best look like he had given chase, he decided as he ambled down the path.

* * *

Nadir limped, picking pieces of the broken cot up and stacking them beside the cabin. Cutting a bundle of high grasses, he attempted to sweep the partitioned room.

He had no doubt that Erik would catch the Daae woman. His fear was; what Erik would do when he found her.

Nadir's eyes had become scratchy and his buttock was hot to the touch. Pushing away the tepid tea and bacon sandwich, he waited for his friend's return.

Darius sporting a dark expression on his face, strolled by to pick up a bucket. In minutes the young man marched back inside placing a pot on to boil. He stoked the fire then proceeded to roll up his sleeves. He took Nadir's turn washing the utensils used to cook breakfast.

Finished, Darius sat down opposite Nadir. Morosely he ate his drying sandwich and tepid tea.

"Would you look at this!" Looking out a cracked window, Nadir's eyebrows rose at the unusual sight returning up the path.

Soaked from head to foot, Erik held an equally drenched Christine over his shoulder. The woman's head was bobbing to the Phantom's determined strides. Her hands beat about his back and side as she kept up a chorus of 'let me go'.

Once inside, the Phantom unceremoniously dropped her on her bottom, wrenching the blanket back in place. Christine cautiously peeped her head out. Lifting a finger in the shhh position, he then narrowed his eyes.

Noticing that her captor's glare turned steely, Christine popped her head back in.

Deciding retreat was the flavor of the moment, Nadir nodded to Darius. The two men made haste to exit the cabin.

Erik grasped an extra blanket and one of his shirts. Turning his head away, he thrust the items through the blanket. "Dry," he ordered.

Swiftly he dried himself off and donned his last set of clothes. He didn't trust the woman not to peek. Standing where she couldn't see, he lifted his mask to dry his face. Luckily he had a smaller, foldable, black version with him. The only problem with it was it covered very little of his lips. He had to make do with drying the wig as best he could.

Silently relieved that someone had heated the water, Erik once again made tea. Sprawled at the table, he was silently fuming to himself when Nadir returned. The older man carried some wilting plants in hand.

"New herbs, Daroga," he inquired.

Erik frowned. Did Nadir just weave before sitting down?

"I think my cut is infected. I need to boil these plants into a poultice.

"Did you offer Ms. Daae something warm to drink?"

"She refused the offer this morning, if I remember correctly." Erik gritted.

"Here let me try." We can't have her dehydrating on us."

"It is an idea, Daroga."

Shaking his head, muttering about flies, vinegar and sugar, Nadir stiffly rose to his feet. He made another cup of tea and with aplomb he placed a sandwich on a paper plate. Knocking on the wall he inquired, "Would you like some refreshment, Ms. Daae?"

He heard a low embarrassed voice answer, "Yes, but I have to go…well, you know first."

"Ooooh." Nadir looked to Erik, who had placed his head in his hands.

"I'm too old for this sort of thing," the masked man groused. He raised his voice, "Come out here, Madame."

Christine swallowed, holding her head up, she exited the room. Nadir immediately blushed. The Phantom stood stock still, his breath frozen in his lungs. His shirt hit below her knees, and even though she had rolled the sleeves up, they still hung over her wrist.

The woman had plaited her damp hair in one braid. The tip of it hung down her back to swing at her waist. The sun streaming in the window illuminated the outline of her curvy body and she crossed her arms in a semblance of modesty.

Shaking himself, he gave his lasso to Nadir. "Have her place that around her waist."

"Man, you can't mean…."

"Daroga, I will not have her running from me again. This would be a perfect opportunity for her to escape. I will not be looking at her to see if she tries, guaranteed." Erik said grimly.

Now, Christine _and_ Nadir were a bright red. Fearing she was about to dance, Christine took the lasso from Nadir and pulled it over her head to settle it at her waist.

Erik nodded his head for her to proceed him out of the cabin. Stopping about a thousand feet from the building, he pointed to some shrubs. Christine gingerly stepped to what looked like a good sheltered spot.

Erik jerked on the rope. The beleaguered woman turned around and glared at him.

"Not there, poison ivy."

Tears of frustration and embarrassment pricked at her eyes, she hastily wiped them away scooting behind another bush.

The Phantom studiously watched an ant, as he waited for her to reappear. He never would have guessed in a million years, his lasso would be used as a tether to a stubborn, albeit beautiful woman.

He had to admit his shirt never looked so good. Blowing through his thin lips, he realized he might have alienated her irreparably. Erik would have to do his best. Even use his voice on her if necessary. This plan was too important and failing was not an option. He furrowed his forehead, there was still the second part of the plan to consider also.

Reentering the cabin, he allowed her to take off the lasso. She stopped to pat her foot in the middle of the room.

Erik raised an invisible brow. She placed her hands on her hips, unknowingly tightening his shirt across her breasts. "I need to wash my hands." She said in a 'duh' voice. Erik swiped a rag from the counter and poured some water on it with a dollop of soap.

Ratcatcher chose that moment to come in. He leaned against the wall and blatantly ogled Christine. She threw the rag on the counter and crossed her arms. "My dress needs to dry. I can't wear this around a bunch of men."

"Why not, sweetheart?" The Ratcatcher slyly insinuated.

Erik quickly stepped in front of Christine. Ratcatcher smiled, recognizing the threat and backed down.

Darius quietly gathered up Erik's scattered clothing and procured the pretty prisoner's things. Stating that it was his turn to guard, he left the uncomfortable room. After placing the items of clothing on various low bushes, he happily headed for the lookout.


	25. Chapter 23 Friends, Family and Enemies?

Chapter Twenty Three

Friends, Family and Enemies?

Examining his surroundings, Raoul waited impatiently for the others to arrive. After being thrown into a cell, he had seen no one but an aged doctor by the name of Blondelle.

After bathing and donning clean clothes provided by a woman named Sorelli, he dined on a four star breakfast. The room he now occupied held a mahogany executive table and chairs. Three walls were made of window covered in designer blinds.

Raoul heard a scuffle outside. The door opened to allow Hawke entry. The doctor's sore eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Hawke's muscled thighs and calves were literally poured into a pair of buckskin britches. Knee high black boots encased his feet, and the top buttons of his white shirt were open.

Jerking his arm out of the guard's hand, the brave stepped into the room. Examining the older man, Hawke sighed. Of course, Dr. Chaney was dressed in normal clothes.

Raoul hid a grin, "How have you been treated?"

"If you mean, have I ate and been allowed to bathe, then yes, I have been treated well. If you mean, does it feel good morphing into a living Ken doll, then my pride has taken a beating." Hawke grimaced.

"Where are the girls?"

Raoul shrugged, "I haven't seen them. We haven't been treated… badly, I hope they fared the same."

Sorelli chose that moment to come in, followed by Connie and Meghan. A guard closed the door behind them.

Raoul blinked. The women wore exact replicas of Sorelli's uniform sans scarves. Connie took one glance at Hawke and blushed. Meghan noticed Hawkes clothing, then shot a questioning look at Raoul.

Motioning for the girls to sit down, Sorelli stood in front of the door. "I'll make this short and to the point. Dr. Chaney our security took your suggestion into consideration, and we have a squad dispatched to South America to search for Ms. Daae."

"Who are 'our'," questioned Raoul.

Sorelli pursed her lips, placing her arms behind her back. "Before I answer that question, I need to inform you that your various DNA profiles are downstairs in one of our labs as we speak."

"No garbage cans, but toothbrushes and combs were left in our cell," Connie groaned. "I thought it was funny not to have a way to dispose of the cups."

"Acting wastes your intellect, Miss Daae."

"I guess it won't affect things one way or the other if I mention that those samples are there without our collective permission?" Raoul stared into Sorelli's eyes.

Sorelli held his gaze until he gave up and looked away. "I don't think anyone here cares, Dr. Chaney.

The tall blonde continued, "The plane you arrived here on is one of a kind. Untraceable, and unaffected by sudden electrical charges, as well as other natural and manmade phenomena.

"We flew over the Pacific, are you saying we are on Devil's Triangle," Hawke interrupted.

Sorelli ran her hand across his shoulders, to caress his ponytail. "Hmm your DNA profile needs upgrading to _possible_ mental as well as physical capabilities."

Hawke ground his teeth.

"Close but no cigar, Mr. Hawke. Twelve such triangles divide the oceans. You are on the larger side of Easter Island, Minervian Inlet, to be exact."

"I've been to Easter Island for photo shoots, there is no such thing as Minervian Inlet," Meghan argued.

Glancing at the women, Sorelli sighed, "Don't get your hopes up regarding rescue. The Machaon group has been here nearly ninety years avoiding discovery. We aced it through two World Wars and the cold War, complete with constant air patrol from every developed country imaginable.

"We harnessed the ability to stay invisible, and have nearly unlimited resources at our finger tips. If there is something we need we either fly or use one of our prototype boats to procure it.

" Our fingers are in several scientific pots. The labs manufacture fuel from garbage and waste materials. We have no need to involve ourselves in political posturing over oil.

"Agricultural specialists found a way to renew ground soil thus ensuring that we have enough growing acreage to supply the inlet.

"Gold is easy to reproduce, thus enabling us to buy whatever we need. Our very lives are extended and then extended again.

"Your poor little sheep, Dolly wasn't the first clone, by far. We were quite advanced in that technology at the time of her conception. Our population has zero use for the act of reproduction except for pleasure's sake, now."

She turned a chalkboard around drawing a DNA sequence, "But there is a snag. Once someone goes through the cloning process three times the original DNA starts to break down.

"Dr. Chaney, what was the name of the good doctor that was kind enough to see you?"

"Dr. Blondelle."

"You father is a diabetic, isn't he doctor?"

Blood rushed into Raoul's face as he sprang from his seat, hands clenched.

Sorelli held up a hand. "Careful, doctor you don't want another session with Agent Polen's fists."

Raoul slowly sat down, glancing at the others. "Tell me you haven't crossed that line."

Sorelli's laugh resembled a tinkling bell. "Let's let everyone else in on this little history lesson too, doctor. Raoul here, realised that it was Dr. Blondelle who helped develop insulin."

"But insulin has been around forever," Meghan added. "How could the…"

"Ahh, so you see the light. Dr. Blondelle is ready to start his second cloning. We need a healer to ensure that every tiny allele is one-hundred percent healthy."

"So you are grave robbers, too," Hawke spoke.

"Oh, Mr. Hawke you wound me to the quick. Exhumation is a living business here."

"Who else is on this Island," Connie whispered.

"Ah, Ah, Ah, a woman has to have some secrets," Sorelli smiled.

"Let me understand, you want my mother in order to keep cadavers alive? What happens when she passes away?"

"Do you need to ask, little girl," Sorelli yawned. "We are going to ensure that doesn't happen."

"Heal the healer?" Hawke blew through his lips.

Sorelli nodded. "I assume that the four of you are interesting in knowing what we want with you. The obvious reason is to draw Ms. Daae. But you know, it has come to our attention that she has good taste in friends and family.

"Miss Daae, you carry DNA in common with your mother. That's the foremost reason for your detainment.

"Dr. Chaney, you are a well-respected doctor and humanitarian, but what most people don't know about is your IQ of 165.

"Miss Giry, Miss Universe is no small achievement for a savvy business woman.

"Mr. Hawke, your obvious physical attributes, coupled with your small tribal genome is highly desirable." Sorelli reached behind her and knocked on the door.

Zane Dugan stepped in, carrying a laptop. Connie glared then dropped her gaze to her lap. Dugan lifted his lip in a cruel parody of a smile. He stopped and shot a cocky wink at an uncomfortable Meghan.

"Not only does our illustrious Ms Daae have good taste in friends and family, she attracts a special type of enemy." Pulling down a screen he set the laptop up.

A dark picture focused on the screen. "This is Nadir Kahn. He is the right hand man of a double Core-Machaeon agent that goes by the call name of 'Phantom.'


	26. Chapter 24 Lets Make A Deal

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Let's Make a Deal

Christine sat on her makeshift bed with her chin on her knees. She had spent the rest of the day watching watery sunlight inch across floor; throwing writhing shadows under the blanketed door.

Occasionally she heard male voices raised in conversation though no pertinent information could be ascertained.

She straightened the sleeping bag that now covered a corner of the floor, her mind furiously going over then disregarding ways to escape. Her stomach rumbled, the effect of this morning's bacon and tea having long worn off.

After the bathroom fiasco, the masked man had placed the food in her hands shoving her through the partitioned door. She shivered, the sadistic chuckles of the man called 'Ratcatcher' continued to echo in her ears. At least the younger man had returned her dry costume.

Puzzled, she worried her lip; current situation aside, she felt sensations she had never felt before. A companionable feeling akin to having lunch with a sibling, or a favored friend, wrapped tenuous arms around her psyche.

The blanket moved and the mask man entered bearing a candle and a plate. Placing them beside the water pitcher he left, returning with a steaming cup.

She started to rise; there was no benefit in starving herself. The dark man left once again to return carrying two makeshift stools. She pulled one closer to the bed, sitting down with the plate in her lap. She placed the tea on the floor.

Resembling a grasshopper with his knees almost to his ears, the man took the other stool. With an elegant wave he indicated for her to eat the stew on her plate. He intently watched her eat. That intensity made her feel as if she were a monkey in the zoo.

The silence grew painful, and he sighed, jumping up to pace the room. Darting short looks at her he finally asked, "Why did you disguise yourself in the blonde wig the other night?"

Christine slowly chewed a piece of tough meat. "I guess you won't buy it was part of the costume? Erik stood still. "I thought not.

"It seemed like the thing to do. When someone kills one innocent boy and severely injures another while trying to obtain information about yourself, it is prudent to take precautions. Must not have worked, here I am... Why did you kidnap me?"

"Your voice. Where did you learn to sing like that?"

Christine smiled dryly, "You can say I was self-taught."

The Phantom stopped pacing. Leaning against a wall, booted ankles crossed, he watched the candle light flicker across her features.

"You could own the world with your voice," he announced.

"No thanks, I'd settle for being safe _somewhere_ in the world."

"Erik frowned, "I am not jesting, Madame. Your voice is one of a kind."

"I don't think you are funny at all. I was serious. The ability to walk about without a guard is the better option in my opinion. You know, a normal life. Who do you work for?"

Erik curbed his incredulity. How could she speak with such laissez-faire regarding music? She had obviously spent too much time among the heathen.

Deciding she was deliberately trying to irritate him, he continued, "That's neither here nor there. This line of conversation is getting us nowhere at the moment. Let us get down to business.

"I brought you here for two reasons. The first one is a personal one."

Christine closed her eyes; this morning's holographic images hauntingly clear behind her eyelids. Chewing on her lower lip, she asked, "Were you born that way?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were born that way. I assume that the personal business has something to do with that mask you wear."

Erik stood up to his full six-foot eight height. "Indeed, I was."

Studying the strange man in front of her, Christine finished her tea. "So one of the things you want from me is to heal your face? What happened, a birth defect or birth trauma?"

Erik looked away, "My mother took a Lithium derivative when she was enceinte. In fact she overdosed on it."

"It _is_ a known teratogen in a small number of pregnancies, but I assume it was the amount she took. How many doctors have you seen?"

Erik growled, "How many doctors have I not seen? I have been through four different surgeries, and my body rejected one after the other. The last one left me worse than when I started."

"So is it that simple, I heal your face and you let me go? Am I hearing you correctly?"

Erik began to pace anew. "No, you will need to complete the second half of my request."

Pushing her tongue in her cheek, Christine waited.

"Heal my face first and I will tell you what that entails."

"I haven't seen your face. I don't know if I can heal it." Christine hedged.

"You are the strongest 'healer' in the world, are you not?"

"That doesn't mean I am infallible."

Erik was beginning to become irritated. "I thought healers worked without any thought to themselves."

He watched the woman place her arms across her chest. Oh, no! Here it comes. She was going to be stubborn. "We can go on to the second part of my request immediately if you so desire."

"What incentive do I have, considering by your voice, and threatening attitude; that I really don't have a choice in what comes next? At least let me know what I am to face."

She did have a point, she didn't have a choice in any of this. Except…her voice. It all came back to her voice, and his face.

If his face were normal, he could hide her anywhere in the world. On a personal level Erik could guard Christine Daae's physical welfare better than a squad of Core agents.

He would finally be able to procure a wife to stroll with on Sundays. When he found her, the two of them would enjoy private boxes, watching his discovery, Christine Daae, enthrall the world.

Unconsciously rubbing his hands together, the scenario folded out before him. He, Erik looking like any other man could coach her: placing her on the most renowned stages. Erik felt a frisson of excitement shoot up his spine. France, England, and Italy for a start.

He looked her in the eyes, "If you heal my face, and agree to let me coach your voice, I will deal with the factions dictating my second request."

"That being?"

Erik sighed. "Delivery into Machaon hands."

Christine's breathing became shallow. She was to transfer hands? Better the devil you know..., "Machaon?"

"They are an independent group in the process of absconding with all known healers for their medical engineering project. They are well-known to the Core."

Feeling queasy, Christine sat back down. "You know this, how?"

"I don't have the specifics, Madame. Just an intermittent contact. Do we have a deal?"

Christine huffed, trying to buy time. "Let me get this right. You do not turn me over to these people and all I have to do is sing?."

"Over simplified, but yes."

"What have you done to reassure me of your sincerity?"

"Nothing. Except your continuing safety. You can take it or leave it. I have no way of reassuring you."

"Ok. Deal. Not because of anything you have said, but because of what I feel. I can't have lived a life-time to become totally hopeless now."

Christine shook her head sadly, "If you had just come up to me and asked, I would have tried to heal your face before."

Erik looked skeptical. "You would have done it without compensation? With complete privacy?"

"Yes, that is what a Christian person would do."

"Hmmf, I've seen so-called Christians more inclined to spit in your face than help you."

"Not everyone." Christine walked over to stand before him. Unprepared he stepped back. She tilted her head to look into his eyes; discovering they were deep-set, shining in brilliant gemstone colors of blue and green. "I guess that's why they seem to glow; the colors are brilliant in themselves."

Color washed up to flush Erik's neck, making him want to run his fingers under his collar.

"Let me see."

That brought him out of it. "You don't have to see to heal, I researched that." Erik ground out firmly.

"I will have to place my hands on it."

"Oh no. Nada." Erik stalked away, temper escalating.

"Your choice," Christine shrugged, not realizing she raised a red flag and yelled,'Toro'!

Turning on heel, he grasped one of her hands. He held on to it firmly as she struggled to wrench it back. He pried his mask away from his face with his other hand. The Phantom tugged on her arm, bringing her hand even with the mask.

She had to stand on her toes to maintain the position without hurting the muscles of her arm. Staring in her eyes, he proceeded to gingerly slide her hand between his face and mask.

She stilled. She didn't want to injure him further.

Unprepared, Erik sighed as her soft hand slid against his ruined cheek.

Her eyes widened at the perceptions created by her fingertips.

He wished he dared allowed her access to the other side.

Placing a hand on his chest to brace herself, breathing deeply, she cautiously explored his face.

The tender skin felt like it was on fire causing him to hold his breath. Oh. Worse! His breathing became harsh, loud in the quiet room. He felt winded as if he had battled an equal opponent.

This was the first time that non medical personnel had touched his adult visage with gentleness. He was no longer an experiment to prod and poke. He felt almost…human.

Erik watched through narrowed eyes as Christine closed hers and began to move her mouth. He could smell the same perfume he had noticed while retrieving her from the creek.

Cracking open his lids he noticed the pictures didn't show the smattering of freckles across her small nose. Didn't do justice to her peaches and cream skin either.

Shuddering he noticed the fingers on her other hand had begun to make small circles on his chest.

Once again she wasn't given a choice. He had initiated the contact. Her life depended on his whims.

Trying to feel charitable regarding the whole situation, she began to pray. Slowly the tips of her fingers traced numerous dry, scaly, valleys and ridges. In places the skin was thick as a callous, in others as thin as a baby's wrist.

The man relaxed under her soothing fingers, resembling a great cat. She wouldn't be surprised if he purred.

She squeezed her eyes. Nothing. She prayed harder. Nothing. This had never happened before. Not one feeling of electrical-transference. She really had to see in order to speed up this uncomfortable, awkward process!

Erik had closed his eyes, lost in the sensations created by her hand. The grip on her wrist had softened nearly into a caress. Bravery washed over her. In a millisecond, Christine reached out her free hand and jerked his mask from his face.


	27. Chapter 25 I don't like Spiders

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

I don't like Spiders and Snakes

"What has Reyer found out at the diner?" Carlotta tried to find a comfortable position in Lance's truck.

"Not much to speak of. They knew what they were doing. No finger prints, no traceable markers, relative simple smoke bombs and rewiring of the lights. The most remarkable piece of evidence is the body. You ok?"

"Don't mind me. Comes with being operated on two days ago. Was it identified?"

Alan nodded. "His name is Joseph Bouquet. Record spanning three decades. Petty thief, passing counterfeit bills, impersonating a prison guard, and bad checks, that type of thing. "

Alan shivered, "The coroner said he saw it coming. A few fractions of an inch and he would have been decapitated. It's a wonder his head didn't fall off when he dropped from the ceiling. I bet it would have if there hadn't been a support crisscrossing his chest."

"You are too engrossed in those facts, Alan."

Pulling into an apartment complex, Alan turned off the truck. "Well, this is it. Core has scoped out the neighbors: replacing one with a medic to see to your care. She is in the apartment across the hall. Too bad Reyer can't escape the reporters too."

Assisting Carlotta with her walker, Alan unlocked the door. Carlotta stood still, a vacant look on her face.

Alan ran his hand in front of her eyes, "Thoughts?"

"It will take me a while, but I will be back in training, right?"

Later, Alan couldn't say what made him do it; he reached out and placed his arms around the group's emotional porcupine, placing her head on his shoulder. To his surprise, Carlotta left it there.

Interrupted by his phone, Alan answered, "'Lo, yeah. Just now. Okay, I'll be here."

"Hey old girl, care for a milk shake? Reyer and the stick-tights are on their way."

* * *

Lance Dugan turned to observe the group. "We don't have any reliable pictures of the Phantom. He is master at stealth, possessing an adroit genius far exceeding yours, Dr. Chaney. The creature also excels at multiple skills, including guerilla warfare, making him a force to be reckoned with.

"I don't use the word 'creature' lightly. His face is horribly deformed and his body not far from it. He usually dresses in black and wears a white face mask."

Raoul decided to ask the question on everyone's mind. "And what does this, Phantom, have to do with us?"

"Glad you asked. We believe that Ms Daae is now ensconced in his hands."

Connie's face blanched. Sorelli's body tensed, ready for action, as Raoul and Meghan reached for the girl's hand.

Dugan leaned back in his chair, seemingly enjoying his next piece of information, "Machaeon, believes this man was the sniper that killed your father, Miss Daae."

A tick appeared under Hawke's left eye. "Is there a reason that you are torturing Connie? You want us to hate this man, Dugan?"

"If the idea has not yet crossed your minds, I have something to inform you. Once someone has seen this inlet, they don't leave." Sorelli ignored Meghan's gasp.

"Phantom has been on the Machaeon payroll for ten years without ever placing foot here. If you want to keep each other alive, if one of you spots him...if he tries to make contact it will be your responsibility to report to myself or Dugan."

"We believe he has his own agenda regarding Ms. Daae. Unfortunately, we have lost our mole within the Phantom's entourage. Our agents are hunting for them as we speak. It won't take long for us to infiltrate once again. You see, he is also on the Core payroll. Double agents are a sticky business. Always having to make sure they don't abdicate and all that… rot." Dugan stretched in his seat.

"Since he more than likely will not give up Ms Daae until she fulfills his needs, we have to lure them here. Obviously we have more than one purpose for the Phantom, also. Can you imagine what we could do with the mental capabilities on his DNA?"

"I thought he was dangerous," Hawke asked.

Sorelli smiled. "Now, now Hawke, I realize you aren't a scientist. Once we have a strong sample log of DNA, we don't have to keep its owner alive. We can always clone another with his mental capabilities." Eyes narrowing, she looked each prisoner in the eye. "This is something the four of you might want to keep in consideration. We have completed the first step; we have your DNA."

* * *

"You witch! You little Delilah." Enraged, the Phantom pushed Christine away and she tumbled to the floor. "Why did you do that?" He threw his stool to the wall. Clenching and unclenching his hands he towered over her.

Christine scooted away until she could go no farther. Calmness pervaded her flight or fight response. Nurse foremost and healer second her professionalism rose to the surface. She wasn't afraid of his visage, she was afraid of what he would do.

As the man continued to rant, she found herself examining his face. His skin was without color except for the jagged edges which curled up like yellowed parchment.

Long, purplish ridges of scar tissue crisscrossed his cheekbones. Blue veins pulsed in the hollows underneath and across his temple. The worst of it was he was devoid of a nose, giving him a skull-like appearance. He was also missing both eyebrows.

Erik's glittering eyes were situated far underneath the eyebrow ridge, ringed by dark circles. His anger and thin lips farther twisted his features adding to the horror of his deformity.

She closed her eyes as the holographs once again encircled her, closing in, squeezing her until she felt his pain. Tears eked from the corners of her eyes.

The curtains flew open and Nadir limped in. Erik turned away, placing his hands over his face. Taking one look and glaring at Christine, the Persian picked up the mask, handing it to the angry man.

Erik replaced the mask and stalked out. Nadir continued to glare at Christine. "You of all people should not have reacted like that to his face. Unforgiveable behavior for a healer or nurse.

Christine stood to her feet, her chest heaving. "How was I supposed to react, I thought he was going to strike me!"

"You are crying."

"In response to his inner demons. Oh, you wouldn't understand!"

"You'd be surprised." Nadir placed a hand to his head.

Christine noticed that he was weaving. Reaching out she tried to grasp his arm. Too late he collapsed to the floor with a crash.

Giving no thought that these men were her captors, Christine reacted, "Help, Erik, somebody! Mr. Kahn has fainted."

Darius barreled in. Christine ordered, "You get his top and I'll get his legs, if we are able, we will try to get him up on the table."

She noticed that Erik wasn't in the other room.

"Do you know what could be wrong with him," she asked Darius.

"He stuck a piece of metal in his ahh…bum a few days ago and it is infected, that's all I know."

"Help me roll him to his stomach."

Once the patient was on his belly, to Darius' chagrin Christine grabbed a knife and cut the older man's pants. She made a moue with her mouth. The laceration was indeed terribly infected.

"Boil some water, and get me some rags, I'm sorry I don't know your name."

"Darius."

"Do you know if you have any medical supplies?"

"Just a small first aid kit, Nadir had applied a poultice on the wound several hours ago."

Christine divided the water into two pots, boiling a couple of torn towels in one. Pulling one piece out she poured soap on Nadir's buttock and scrubbed. "Put a sharp knife in with the rags and boil it."

The Persian was running a raging fever. Running a cool rag over his back and face she stopped. The muscles in her arms were jerking in time with her patient's heartbeat. Shaking her head, she fished out the knife. "Hold his legs, Darius."

With a quick movement she opened the wound. Pus immediately poured from the opening. Christine placed her hands along Nadir's spine and closed her eyes. She immediately began to pray.

"Oh. My. Heavenly…" Darius breathed.

The strings of pus had formed legs and began to crawl from Nadir's wound. Face pale, Darius stepped up on a chair. Yellow-green tarantulas were leaving the laceration to crawl down the table to the floor.


	28. Chapter 26 Introspection

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Introspection

Christine opened her eyes and ran her hands down to above Nadir's wound. Taking the soapy rag she grasped the giant spiders as they emerged, squashing them then dropping the carcasses to the floor.

"Stomp on them, Darius. If they find an open wound on you they can enter your body."

She looked up and almost laughed, Darius resembling a mosquito, hopping around delicately doing away with the arachnids.

Before long nothing but clear fluid ran from the wound. Taking a swab, Christine made sure none of the spiders were hiding. Taking a clean wet rag she folded it over the wound.

"I'll clean up; you continue to wash him with cool water." Christine gathered up the spider bodies and threw them into the fire. A cacophony of squeaky screams emerged with the increased snapping of the flames.

She burned the rags and reboiled the knife, slipping it under her blanket-door.

Darius watched, teeth clenched with nerves as the nurse pulled the folded rag away. He almost fainted. Nothing. No spiders, no pus, no laceration, no heat and no scar.

Christine felt Nadir's back. Sighing she nodded her head. The fever was gone. "He should wake up any moment now."

Nadir groaned, he was always stiff when he slept on his stomach. Opening an eye he stared straight into Darius' anxious face. "Arggg! What a sight to wake up to. Why are you practically on top of me?"

That's when he noticed empty air surrounding him. Looking down he realized he was lying on the table. He flipped over and sat up. Hey wait; it had been a couple of days since he could properly sit on his keister.

Darius plopped down on a chair, hands clasped between his knees, and stared off in an almost catatonic state. Nadir knew then what had happened.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Christine Daae walked over, arms crossed and began to tap her foot. She reached over and handed him a cool glass of water.

Nadir jerked his head toward Darius who was listening intently, "Darius would you…"

"I know, I know. Get more wood and water." Darius practically stomped out the door.

"May I get off the table?"

"I guess."

Sitting on the vacated chair, Nadir ran a hand over his face. "How long have you known?"

"I must have a very thick-head; I had hints but didn't put two and two together until your body was in sync with my healing touch, then I knew."

"You are actually very lucky, you know. You see fast results. My specialty lies in plant medicines. I can tell you the medicinal use for any plant, but I can't make them work any faster."

"Does _he _know?"

"No. There isn't a plant in this world that can help him. Why get his hopes up? I've been with him so long; he would probably kill me for not trying years ago. I was hoping you would do me the favor of releasing him from that burden he carries."

"Father told me there was a healer roaming Europe evading capture since before I was born. You are he?"

"Yes. I have never fancied the thought of having a keeper." He looked at her raised eyebrow, and shamefacedly smiled, "At least he moves quite a bit."

"How did you meet him?"

Nadir got up and placed the tea-pot on to boil. "About twenty-five years ago I lived in Orin. Needing a job, I rose through the ranks and became chief of police, a 'Daroga'. The extra sensitivity we healers are born with helped me in this endeavor.

"The king favored my work and I became quite comfortably well off. I married a young niece of the king, named Rookheeya. After several tries she presented me with a son, Reza.

"It was during this time that petty crimes started to escalate on the street. I found Erik beaten and left for dead. He was pitiful, only fifteen years old, his face deformed and his body heavily scarred. Not wanting to see his hands cut off for being a thief, I took him home.

"He had found an old cloth sack and was using it as a mask. Rookheeya surprised him by making one out of soft, white leather. He was her servant from that moment on.

"We made the decision then not to tell him about my healing ability such as it is. You could say he became like an older son.

"He wasn't hard to hide, life had taught him how to blend in with his surroundings and stay silent. He was so street savvy; I forged an identity for him and used his knowledge to apprehend criminals.

His rise through the ranks was astronomical. So much so that Erik became a favorite of the King. His Highness would brag abut Erik ignoring his son's capabilities.

"Erik and Reza had a special affinity. Together at night Erik would read anything he could get his hands on and my son followed right after.

A nun at the orphanage from which he had run away had taught him to play the piano. We couldn't keep him in instruments, it would take him mere days to learn to play, then off to another one.

"The Middle East is a boiling pot of anger and prejudice. We lived happily for five years that way. Then the emperor of Kashmun attacked Orin and war ensued. It was traitorous times. Everyone was suspect.

"The King's son found out that Erik was living with us. In the middle of trying to depose his father, he accused us of being traitors. Erik and I were out trying to keep the insurgents from breaking through the street barriers. Quanna and his men raided my house, killing Rookheeya and Reza.

"We found her lying on top of him; she had tried to protect him in vain.

"Erik's pain was great. He blamed himself, thinking if he hadn't been such a perfectionist... Refusing to stay in Orin, he told me he was leaving. I had nothing to stay for and the rest…," Nadir shrugged and poured her a cup of tea.

"Has he always been mentally unstable?"

"Not so much at first. Once the Core then Machaeon found out about his abilities, he became an agent. Before this time, Erik's heart could have encompassed the world.

"As the years went by, exposure to chemical warfare took a toll. As a political prisoner he was nearly tortured to death before I could rescue him. He retreated inwardly and never completely came back from that.

"A female agent who had gained his confidence, and I will say probable first love interest, had betrayed him." Nadir saw Christine frown and he assured her, "It was all one-sided, a perfect cat and mouse play by the woman.

"The worst things to happen were the failed operations. He seemed to lose a bit more of his humanity with each failed attempt. In those early days it wasn't anything for him to talk about a possible wife and family. He dropped it for years, but now it seems to prey on his mind once again.

"Thus my kidnapping. It will be easier to find someone to love with a normal face."

Christine sighed and rinsed her cup out. "I really thought if I could see under the mask, I could heal it easier." I guess I have an apology to deliver. Why didn't it work Mr. Kahn?"

Nadir scanned her open features. "You are in an unenviable position. Deep down do you want to help your kidnapper? You truly have to examine your motives. Will you be doing this for Erik out of kindness, or in order to be released from his captivity? Have you ever been presented with someone you despised to heal?

"Is this the first time this has happened?"

Christine looked down to the floor. "I'm not sure. I didn't see my father's fatal heart attack coming. I helped you, technically you kidnapped me too. I don't understand."

Darius chose that moment to come in with a load of wood. Hearing the last bit of conversation he spoke almost to himself, "If someone kidnapped me, I sure wouldn't want to heal them."

Nadir clapped Darius on the back. "You're a genius, and don't let Erik make you think otherwise."

Turning back to Christine, Nadir rested his chin in his hand. "It's unanimous. Being human, deep down, you plain don't want to heal him."


	29. Chapter 27 To Catch A Rat

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

To Catch a Rat

**A/n This chapter is rated M for suggestive speech.**

Christine's face crumpled. "I didn't want to heal my father?"

Nadir waved his hands as if trying to physically ward off tears. "I don't know what happened with your father, I referred to Erik.

"We will have to discuss what happened to your father in-depth for me to give an opinion."

Christine drew in a shaky breath. Realizing she couldn't give Nadir away in front of Darius, she gathered her thoughts. "I have never had to think about the desire to heal. I have always wanted to help; this idea is completely foreign to me.

"When I tried to pray nothing happened. Usually I can feel the charges swirling in me, I felt nothing. That's why I took his mask off, even though I already knew what he looked like.

"You knew what," Nadir gasped.

"I can see the injury in my mind before physically seeing it with my eyes. With Erik I saw his face and his soul. It is like walking around with a fuzzy portable x-ray machine all the time."

"Are you going to continue to try to escape, Ms Daae?"

Darius was sitting on the floor, twirling a twig. "Neither myself or Nadir will harm you, and the boss would be stupid to do anything.

"As hard on me as he is, I still would like for the boss to have his face healed. I know he has his reasons but it must be awful to go around with such a chip on his shoulder."

There was a pregnant pause, and Darius muttered, "We just have to worry about Ratcatcher."

Nadir silenced the young man with a look, "Ratcatcher wants to keep his cahoonas, he won't try anything."

Erik still had not returned by night fall. Scarfing down his grilled cheese, Ratcatcher watched the shadows move under the woman's door. He didn't know what happened while he was on watch, but that old fart, Nadir wasn't favoring his hip anymore. In fact the two Middle Eastern men and the dame had become tight as thieves.

A sly grin crossed Ratcatcher's crooked mouth. The boss had gone and got his feelings all hurt. Darius could take tonight's watch. He had better fish to fry.

"You, boy. Tonight is your turn for guard duty."

Darius frowned, he had just returned from his shift. He looked at the burly, unkempt man and swallowed. He didn't like the added gleam to the other man's pig-shaped eyes. "I don't think so. I'm guarding the lady until the boss returns."

"The boss ran off like a crying little girl." Ratcatcher leaned back to pick his yellowing teeth.

Christine hearing the conversation, shakily procured the knife she had hidden under the sleeping bag.

Nadir came in with a water bucket. Placing it on the stove, he turned to eye the upstart. Ratcatcher was an old army cohort, the man had an evil streak a mile wide.

When the jungles surrounding Sudderstown were clear from a guerilla take down, Ratcatcher followed them out. That had been two years ago; the man was well aware of what Erik was capable of.

He was obviously thinking with the wrong head. Something he was sure the Phantom hadn't thought of. One lone woman and four men could turn into a dangerous combination, considering they were far away from any kind of town.

He watched Ratcatcher's posturing. Darius was about to bite off more than he could chew.

Slipping a packet of dried herbs in a steaming cup along with the normal tea bag, Nadir proceeded to hand it to Ratcatcher. Not to draw attention he placed another cup in Darius' clammy hands and picked up another to sip from. "Take that to Ms Daae, I'm sure she is thirsty."

For once Darius obeyed without comment. Ratcatcher snorted, knocking back the tea. "You won't move me on this old man."

"We don't have to decide anything yet, the sun hasn't cleared the horizon. I am sure the Phantom intends to arrive soon.

Another snort rent the air. "He has become a wuss. One woman takes off that mask and he becomes all 'touchy-feely'."

"She is lucky. If you had done it we'd be burying you right now."

"Hmmph. All I want to do is give her a little luv'ing. It's not like the boss wants her for that. I agree with ole Bouquet's idea, the boss is more than a little funny." Ratcatcher rocked his hand in the air.

"By the way, what happened to Bouquet? He never came back with the two of you from town."

"He did something as stupid as you laying a hand on the woman would be."

Ratcatcher laughed, and then yawned. "Guess you're right we don' 'ave to do n'thing now." The grimy man stood up and proceeded to fall into his bedding. "I've got all night wif the lady."

Darius quietly stepped into the room. "Can I kill him?"

Nadir Kahn rolled his eyes. What was it about Ms Daae that brought out killer instincts in a youngster?" "I gave him enough to sleep way past sunrise. Erik will be back before then."

"I hope so." Darius determinedly pulled his sleeping bag across the men's side of the blanketed door."

* * *

"I took something for pain a few minutes ago, say that again?" Carlotta pulled at her ear.

"I put in vacation time for the four of us." Reyer spoke slowly.

"That's what I thought you said. Why?"

Summer swung her foot on the chair she was lounging on. "I think it is a viable idea, Carlotta. It will keep you in the loop."

"Do you realize that we would be making a major infraction? We won't have anyone to cover our collective backs."

"There are too many loose cannons out there too. Word came in from special services that Bouquet was a Machaeon plant. We have to untwist this knot we are skipping over."

"Machaeon. Code word for boogie-man." Alan pinched the skin between his brows. "Just how much knowledge do the four of us have on them?"

"Could be a lot," Summer said in a sing-song voice as she pulled out a heavy-duty netbook from her bag.

"Come to Papa." Alan grasped the machine and immediately plugged it in.

A voice, sounding as if he were briefing a crew, defined Machaeon.

"How did you get that, Tabitha?" Carlotta scrutinized the blushing girl's face.

"She promised Agent Robinson that he would be the first person she would date if she broke up with me, that's how," Lance grumbled.

* * *

"The four of you are pretty stressed right now. Guards will take you to your quarters and stand outside your doors. Introduction to your jobs is on the schedule for tomorrow. Everyone pulls their weight here." Sorelli opened the door allowing four guards to march in.

"We will separate you at night and you will work in pairs during the day."


	30. Chapter Twenty Eight Apologies

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Apology

The wail of sirens echoed several streets over, mingling with the shouts from innumerable cruising cars. Most were directed at the prostitutes manning each corner. To Shade's chagrin the alley way continued to stay clear.

His nostrils flared at the smell of popcorn wafting from the apartment complex behind him. He doubted the flimsy contact intended to show. The joke was definitely on him.

Deciding to give them a few more minutes, he idly watched an older couple walk their dog down the street.

He blinked, shaking his head. The man walked on as the woman turned down the alley. Shade stayed in the shadows waiting for her to pass through.

She stopped barely five feet past his cover to pet the dog. Cooing, she allowed the furry animal to excitedly lick her face. He groaned to himself. What a time for puppy lovings.

Without warning the leash slipped from her hand. Shade's eyes widened, the dog immediately trotted in his direction. He bent down to pet the wiggling canine hoping to keep it quiet.

He was glad Ratcatcher wasn't with him, the older man would have picked the small canine up and snapped its neck.

The dog gently but firmly placed Shade's gloved hand between his teeth and tugged. Looking from the shadows, Shade noticed the owner still rested on her heels perusing the alley. Taking the leash he walked the animal back to the woman.

"Oh thank you, sir." She once again began to coo to the dog. He was compromised now, what would it hurt? Ever the animal lover, Shade squat down to pet the animal's head. He lifted his eyes to the calm, older woman's upturned face. It sounded like the coos were saying 'under collar'!

Continuing to pet the wiggling powder puff, Shade ran the fingers of his other hand under the collar. Palming a piece of paper, he stood up.

"He sure is cute lady, but he ain't big enough for protection. Let me see you to your destination."

* * *

Erik's narrowed his eyes, there wasn't anyone on lookout? He picked up his pace and slammed open the door, startling Nadir.

He found himself looking down the barrel of the Daroga's Glock. Nadir lowered the gun removing his finger from the trigger. Sighing, he plopped back down on the chair.

Darius had jumped up from his bedroll holding a rifle across his chest.

Ratcatcher's snores reverberated in the quiet room.

"Darius, take the lookout. I had better not find a guard post unmanned again or all three of you will not live to regret it.

Erik waited for the reluctant teen to step aside to slip behind the blanket. His sixth sense irradiated through his body, Erik immediately sidestepped. Crouching in the middle of the room with lasso in hand, all his senses were alert as he scanned the corners.

The shadows from the candles flickered. Flattened beside the door, Christine Daae dropped the knife she was holding.

"Do you know how to use that weapon, Madame?" Erik strode over to tower above the frightened woman.

Kicking the knife aside, he snarled, "Did a little thing like you intend to send Erik back to his maker?"

Christine looked up at the mask fighting back tears, "I…I thought you were him." She stepped over to the candle light that pooled in the middle of the room, arms crossed around her chest.

Keeping her in sight, the Phantom turned on heel. "Just whom are you referring to?"

"One of _your_ cohorts, that pig, 'Ratcatcher.' I absolutely refuse to stay another night here. If it means killing me, then do it." She straightened proudly, chin in the air.

Christine grit her teeth, waiting for the masked man to respond. She felt like an over wound clock. The past couple of weeks had been nothing but pure hell. To top it off she was held hostage by a madman and constantly worried about where her daughter and friends were.

She leaned into the shadowed wall, her shoulders shaking.

Erik kept still, thinking fast. What was he to do? That was all he needed, a hysterical female on his hands. Reining in his anger, he strode over to the crying woman. His stomach clenched. Reaching out a trembling hand he brushed the air over her curls. His husky whisper floated through the room.

With a sigh he whispered,"Don't cry, Ange. Erik is sorry for the way he went about this. Ratcatcher will not touch you."

Christine wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and turned around. "Which part are you sorry about? Kidnapping me, throwing me to the floor, dunking me in the creek, walking me on a leash or leaving me barely guarded?"

Erik drew out a handkerchief from his black jacket. He tilted his head as she wiped her face. "Does he have a choice?"

A short laugh burst forth. Christine looked at the handkerchief in her hand, and then asked, "You want this back?" Shoulders hunched, she was embarrassed over her dramatic outburst.

Erik tilted his head, "Christine may keep it in case she has anymore tears."

Christine folded the handkerchief until it couldn't be folded anymore, "I owe you an apology."

Placing a hand to his chest, he emitted a shocked, "You want to apologize to _me?"_

Christine nodded. "I shouldn't have taken your mask off without permission. I just thought the healing would begin to work if I could see your face."

"I accept your apology." Erik gestured to the seat he had brought in earlier.

Eyes cast down Christine seated herself. "I'm willing to try again if you want."

Talking to himself with wonder in his voice, he muttered, "Nadir's wife, Rookheeya was the only woman ever to make Erik, er… me, an apology.

"If you are willing, I would like to try again," Erik watched her from the corner of his eye.

Christine looked up, "I want you to know, I will try my best. Our failure was a first for me. If it works, then what? Are we going to leave this cabin? What if it doesn't work again?"

Christine watched the smooth square jaw pull the thin lips into a smile.

"One could not very well practice singing here. We won't contemplate failure." Erik's smile widened as she tried to curb hers.

"Here would be perfect if one were a songbird. Why did you call me Angel?"

The top of Erik's right ear tuned red, "Habit, I guess. I had looked for you for a couple of months. Once my casino was under construction I overheard my native workers talking about an Angel that worked at the doctor's office. Rumor had it that she worked miracles for the patients.

"I listened and began to check out their claims." Erik walked over and fingered the door-blanket. "Nadir and I waited by the curve on Blakemore Road most nights when you arrived home."

Christine swallowed, uncomfortable with this new information.

"It wasn't hard to procure copies of the clinic's old records, which verified the rumors, by-the-way. So in my mind I started calling you Angel also. When I saw you, it solidified my suspicions. Only an Angel could have your looks."

Christine tried to ignore the blush creeping over her features. Running her tongue over her lips, deep in thought, she gathered her courage to ask, "What happened with Jackson Man Bear and Brian Deer Stalker?"

Erik made a slash in the air with his gloved hand. "I made the mistake of sending a raw recruit with Ratcatcher to question the boys. They evidently did not want to give up any information regarding you and fought back. Things got out of hand, and Darius could not contain Ratcatcher's blood lust."

A chill raced up Erik's spine. Christine didn't need to know about the undertaker. For some innate reason he didn't want her to know about his murders. He would like to keep that piece of information between himself and his men.

Christine shivered, "That man frightens me".

She was in the proverbial, 'between a rock and a hard place'. It seemed she had to put some trust in this 'Erik', if for no other reason but a way to leave the woods for civilization. What would her father have done?

"If I do this, could you…would you…," she stammered. "Erm, Listen to me, I sound like Dr. Seuss. Before we do anything else, may I contact the agents that were my guards, and ask them to help me find my daughter and friends?"

"Erik cannot risk Core agents tracing where we are. When did your daughter and friends disappear?"

"About two nights after I left the Reservation."

"He…I...have many contacts in several organizations that can put out feelers for them. I must think on it. Are you ready to try again Christine Daae?"


	31. Chapter 29 Failure

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Failure

"Any news from Alan yet?" Carlotta looked up from her exercise mat.

"No, but Lance is ready at the first check point. Agent Thompson is riding with them."

"Berkley raised so much Cain about flying a plane other than 'Shiny Penny'; I thought he was going to have a stroke."

Summer smiled at the other agent, "Where did professionalism go? We act like a bunch of divas."

"How did Reyer get the information on Agent Thompson?"

"From what I understand he is well-known to Core. The man has a vast working knowledge regarding Machaeon and has worked with our guys before.

"Thompson himself isn't a double agent, but he has access to contacts that can wiggle their way around Machaeon inner circles."

"Thirty." Carlotta groaned lying back on the exercise mat.

"Come on give me your hand, we need to leave in a half-hour to meet this Agent Thompson. You need to have a bath."

"With friends like you, who needs enemies?" Carlotta grumbled, affronted.

* * *

"Isn't this a little out in the open?" Carlotta sipped her coffee watching the patrons interact. Eyeing the walls she observed, "It looks like they hired a survivalist to decorate in here: if there is one set of antlers, there are at least a hundred."

Summer shrugged, "The men chose the restraunt."

"Figures."

An inebriated farmer accidentally kicked the metal walker folded by Carlotta's side. She flushed red, grumbling, "We stick out 'like a sore thumb' with me on this contraption."

Summer sipped her Shirley Temple, "You know that's the reason, hide in plain sight, right? Hauling that thing around with you has gotten on your nerves."

Carlotta darted her eyes toward the door. "Don't look now, but here they are."

Summer looked in the mirror over the bar. Lance entered the door followed by Reyer. She watched the newcomer enter. No swagger or unusual gait. Average height. Not too thin, nor obese. The perfect nondescript.

Lance sat beside Summer and ordered a drink. Without glancing at the others, Reyer walked over to an empty table by the window. Agent Thompson pulled up a stool by Carlotta.

Carlotta deliberately dropped her fork; the new arrival didn't hesitate to retrieve it.

She raised an eyebrow in confusion. The handsome black man sitting beside her wasn't a perfect nondescript like she and Summer had hoped. He did have one startling feature, blue eyes. Nothing contacts couldn't hide, but unusual just the same.

"Thanks, sorry I didn't catch your name young man."

Flashing a toothy smile he pulled the hoodie from his head revealing neat dreadlocks. "My name is Thompson, but you can call me Shade."

* * *

Erik waited for Christine to answer. He watched as she stood up, straightening the wrinkles from the Dorothy costume.

"You sit down this time."

Erik sat on the low stool, elegantly folding his legs.

"Let's not have a repeat of the last debacle. Would you please remove your mask?"

Erik sighed heavily. Raising his hands he slowly lifted the mask. Closing his eyes he waited for the gasp and accompanying stumble.

His eyes flew open when soft hands cupped each cheek. Ms Daae's face was just inches from his own. He could feel the minute puffs of her breath tickling his skin. Tongue to the side of her pink mouth, her eyes narrowed. His body involuntarily jerked as her fingers began to gently explore his visage.

Erik started to tremble from his core. Perspiration gathered on his upper lip, and he was so queasy that he felt like he was going to vomit. It took all his willpower not to brush her hands aside.

Christine Daae's eyes barely resembled the old photographs. Instead of still life, they were a living, swirling, mixture of brown and green.

She had pulled her long hair back into a ponytail with tiny curls escaping to frame her oval face. He silently cursed his sense of smell. The faint aroma of her shampoo met his non existant nostrils. Meeting her eyes briefly, he looked away.

Christine smoothed her thumbs over the rough edges. Closing her eyes she whispered, "I ask this in the names of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, please revert this damage back to the way you originally intended for this man before conception…"

Erik's ears began to ring and he couldn't hear what the rest of her words were. He gasped as his heart began to pound erratically. It felt like he had a seventy-pound weight on his chest. His head ached, squashed in an invisible vice, the worst type of migraine imaginable.

With inhuman strength, he held onto consciousness as mismatched eyes burned beneath their lids. Time ceased. He couldn't break the hold of life images swirling through his soul, a boy hiding from bullies, kindly nuns, insurgents, Rookheeya, Reza, hundreds of nameless faces, an undertaker and a young red-headed soldier.

Christine felt the cold face between her hands heat up. The familiar indigo scarabs encircled her, taunting and laughing in elfin voices. She continued to pray, but never felt an expected sense of accomplishment. Instead, a sense of inner peace washed over her.

She opened her eyes. The deep-set orbs before her stayed closed. Her stomach dropped. Nothing had changed, except the curling scar tissue left over from the rejected surgeries. Those paper-thin strips of skin were gone.

His nose was still missing and she could see the blood flowing through translucent veins. He was still as thin as an almost seven-foot tall skeleton. She tried to pray again, but to no avail. The ancient beetles scurried past her, rubbing her ankles like a blue cat."Nothing," they chanted, "It was too late."

Erik forced his eyelids open. Ms. Daae was still there, a hand placed to her mouth; her brown eyes troubled.

Slowly he lifted his hand; it was same bony appendage as before. He rubbed the side of his face. The curled tissue was gone! He rubbed harder feeling the pulsing blood vessels.

His heart nearly stopped. Slowly his hand moved toward the center of his face. Afraid of what he would find, he gingerly passed over the familiar opening in the skull.

Christine would never forget the torment in his eyes. In that moment they held all the sadness of the world.

* * *

"Pull the cart closer, Hawke." Connie straightened her back.

"Hey you, get back to work." A man on horseback rode gingerly between the sprouting plants.

"I see how the slaves felt," Hawke grumbled. He watched the girl working at his side throw a clump of weeds into the high-wheeled cart. "Pace yourself, we don't know how long we will be out here."

Looking at their khaki overalls, Connie sighed, "What are we going to do?"

"First thing for sure is... we get their trust." Hawke looked over at the crestfallen girl. "At least we are together."

A small smile lit her eyes. "Yeah, I could be working with Genghis Kahn, or some other weakling."

"Instead they paired you with another Alexander the Great," Hawke flexed his arm muscle."

"You had better quit before they hit you with a taser again," Connie admonished.

* * *

"Have you seen Connie, or Hawke," Meghan whispered.

Raoul shook his head as he placed another batch of samples in the spinner. "Sorelli said we would work in pairs. At least we can surmise that they are together.

"I've been watching, how many workers are in this lab do you think?"

"About fifteen. They all act like they are a Stepford Wife, though."

"They are probably clones. I wonder, does cloning work only on physical attributes and leave personality to environmental shaping?"

"Hmm, have you noticed that everyone seems to need a break at the same time, Doc?"

"No, but I'll look out for it. When you come across scrap paper big enough to make notes on, will you squirrel it away under the keyboard for me?"

Meghan shot her famous smile. "I do believe something is cooking in that brain of yours, Doctor Chaney."


	32. Chapter 30 Trade

CHAPTER THIRTY

Nadir wished he was a fly on the wall. The conversation in the adjoining room didn't waver from an even, low tone.

Enjoying the freeing sensation of his healed dukus, Nadir bent over to straighten his bedroll. And if he was honest with himself, shake out any escaped pus-tarantulas.

Darius' face was quite green when he explained what had crawled out of his wound.

"So the boy obeyed my orders." Ratcatcher was standing, stretching by his sleeping spot. "He may have some brains after all.

"Now old man, why don't you go see how he is doing and come back… let's say, in about an hour?"

The hair stood up on the back of Nadir's neck. The tea had just put off the inevitable. Like a greenhorn, he had left his gun on the table.

"You know I can't do that. Orders are: the prisoner can't be left unguarded."

A hissing, gurgling laugh exploded from Ratcatcher, "I'll be right on top of it, old man."

I'm sure you will, Nadir thought, "I have to insist." The Daroga began to edge toward the table.

"Step any closer to that Glock, and you're a dead man," Ratcatcher held up a knife and snapped open the blade.

Nadir tensed. Now was not the time to just hope he retained the Phantom's karate lessons. Loosening his muscles he watched the oncoming opponent. Lust had become the other man's driving force.

Ratcatcher confidently swung the knife in an upward arch, Nadir leaped to the side, swinging his leg; he kicked the wrist holding the knife.

The weapon hit the floor clattering, spinning under the hot wood stove. With a roar, Ratcatcher charged the older man who neatly sidestepped. Slamming into the wall, Ratcatcher twisted to reach for the Glock.

Nadir dove to the table. Ratcatcher reacted with a punch to the jaw, the Persian, spitting blood continued to grapple for the gun. Large, meaty hands wrapped themselves around his neck, thumbs pressing his trachea.

Just a few inches more… and he would have it…in astonishment he felt himself fall face first on the table. The grip on his neck loosened! Twisting, he grasped the gun and aimed.

Ratcatcher's knees crumpled and he slid to the floor. Lowering the gun, gasping for breath, Nadir wheezed, "Thanks, Erik."

"Don't thank me, Daroga. Thank Ms. Daae." Erik's voice was dry.

"Ms. Daae?"

"I have a little ditty that I use, the bad part is… I can only perform it when my opponent's back is turned."

"You dropped Ratcatcher?"

Erik kicked one of Ratcatcher's feet. "Looks like she did a good job too." Removing a length of rope from his pocket, Erik reached for Ratcatcher's hands.

"We can't stay here any longer, Nadir go get Darius and pack up."

"Wait!" Christine examined Nadir's jaw. Sliding her finger over the darkening bruise, she closed her eyes. In mere minutes she reopened them.

Nadir rubbed a hand over his jaw, avoiding Erik's gaze, he nodded to Christine in thanks.

"He isn't limping. You helped his hip while I was gone." Erik spoke evenly as he gathered up food items stuffing them in his rucksack.

"Yes. Listen, I don't understand."

"We will discuss this later. I want to be far away when Ratcatcher wakes."

* * *

"They contacted me by my personal email; I never go by the name, Shade, except to a select few. I don't know anyone outside our cell that had access to it. Since the message said it was Core orders, I preferred to check it out with Core staff.

"I easily picked up Alan's inquiries with our equipment. It was a no brainer that he was a field Agent for Core, it was easy to trace you here. When Reyer sent out the outdated code asking about Machaeon, I knew I was your man.

"My boss is the expert. I've always handled any contact with Machaeon under his direction. He is undercover right now and I can't blow it for him." Shade hungrily downed the Chinese takeout.

Reyer placed a piece of paper on the coffee table. "We aren't a 'fly by night' knock off from the Core. Here is a copy of that email you received. This is to ensure to you that we have Core capabilities available to us. Our hackers will eventually break any code."

Summer sat by the young man. "I won't insult you and ask who your boss is, but he still has Machaeon connections?"

"Yes."

Reyer felt like he was pulling teeth trying to pry information from Shade. Leaning over he looked each of his partners in the eye. "You can use this for good or for bad, it is up to you my man. As of this moment, we are indeed acting without Core orders.

"We feel our target has not been represented fairly by our company. The four of us have decided to work as…for lack of better words, rogues, while off the clock. Make no mistake, we are still loyal to Core and will provide a full report at the end."

Shade stopped eating, wiping his hands on a napkin, "Agent Reyer, how dangerous do you suspect this Machaeon group is to the general population?"

"They can annihilate the city of New York within twenty-four hours."

"And what makes you think I can be of any help?"

"_They_ contacted you."

"So you are telling me that you think Machaeon is behind this cryptic email?"

Shade decided to play his last ace, "The email isn't my only concern." He reached into his waist belt and retrieved another paper. "I received this message from a strange contact.

"I've come to my own conclusion, but I want your input. What does the name Dugan mean to you?"

Reyer held his hand out for the paper. Looking it over he spoke softly, "What is your conclusion?"

"Reported missing in Vermont. Double agent?"

Summer voiced their collective groans, "Dugan. That explains a lot"

"Who is this target, Christine Daae, you are trying to help?"

Reyer sat back and stared into Shade's questioning eyes. "The strongest healer known to humanity in this day and time."

* * *

Connie could barely move out of the tub. Even her aches had aches. Blistered hands shook as she dried off.

The outer door opened and closed. "Connie?"

"In here."

Meghan gasped. Connie's face and arms were badly sunburned. The younger girl flopped back on the bed.

There were two trays in the room, neither had been touched.

Meghan entered the bath and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. All she could find was a bottle of Aloe Vera. Sitting down on the bed, Meg rubbed the lotion onto the younger girl's face and shoulders.

Taking the bottle, Connie finished her arms.

Grasping a water bottle from one of the trays, Meg thrust it into the other woman's hand. "Drink, I don't trust that you aren't dehydrated.

"Are you hurt anywhere else? What in Sam-hill did they have you doing?"

"I used to love to garden," Connie groaned.

"What was Hawke, doing?"

"Pulling a wagon and weeding too. He smarted off to the foreman at first and the jerk tased him. He has deep burns on his back."

"What did you and Uncle Raoul do?"

"We were given some kind of lab to work in. Listen Honey, Uncle Raoul wants you to keep your ears open for gossip from the workers or your overseers. Anything you find out coupled with what information we can glean just might be the thing."

"I'll try. It may take a while for my brain to catch up with my sore muscles."

* * *

"What did you say they used on you?" Raoul examined the burns on Hawke's back.

"A taser. They threatened to use it on Connie, next if I said anything else."

Applying aloe vera to Hawke's wounds, Raoul stopped to write a list of medicines he would need.

A knock sounded on the door. Raoul's mouth hung open. A tall Native American walked through the doorway. The door closed behind him and the buckskin clad man placed a finger to his lips.

"My name is Sequoyah."


	33. Chapter 31 Loyal Homeboy

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Loyal Homeboys

"This isn't five-star quarters, but it will be a good place to hide for now, "Erik motioned to a small vine-covered entrance on the stream's northern bank.

"When did you locate these caverns?" Entering first, Nadir's flashlight beam bounced off the stalactites and stalagmites lining the subterranean room.

Christine walked over to their pile of supplies and sat down, wrapping herself in a woven blanket. Drawing her legs up she surveyed her surroundings. It was a chilly, constant 54 degrees in the caves. She removed her shoes and poured the excess stream water out.

Drying her feet on a torn rag, she scanned the Ancient petroglyphs that lined the walls. Nadir seemed fascinated by one particular drawing. He waited until the Phantom turned his back and nodded his head for her to join him.

Christine narrowed her eyes. Instead of geometric figures and handprints; chiseled precisely and painted with ochre, a story emerged from the rock. Immediately catching the eye, it stood out from the rest of the painted drawings.

Nadir, not wanting to disturb the images, pulled a pencil from his rucksack. Using the eraser end he followed the images, stopping at one larger than the others. There were several stick figures gathered in a circle and the larger one seemed to hover over the rest.

Christine drew in a quick breath, protruding from the back were feathers in the shape of wings. "Shaman, do you think," she whispered.

Nadir shook his head to the negative. Taking her hand he placed it above the drawings. Her hand began to tingle.

Jerking her hand back she widened her eyes in awe. Nadir continued, stopping at another picture. One stick figure was lying down surrounded by other figures. Copious tears fell artistically down the wall.

The next vignette portrayed the larger figure overshadowing the one lying down. The story continued with the stick figures once again in a circle, legs bent as if in dance.

The last picture in the set showed the injured figure's empty bed. The dancing circle was still there but now including the former bedridden figure.

Erik startled the two, "Looks like the Plains Indians had their own version of 'healers'." Erik removed a cave spider from Nadir's shoulder, gingerly placing it on the ground, "Not to interrupt the archeology lesson, but we all need rest. My intention was to use this as a temporary resting place.

He turned to Christine, "How long do you think Ratcatcher will be out, Ms Daae?"

"He is so large, maybe five or six hours?"

* * *

"He has been privy to many secrets that need guarding or changed. I will leave at dark and ensure our business stays our business. We actually aren't ten miles from a diner that has wi-fi."

Nadir handed Erik an empty rucksack to bring food back in. Rubbing his stubbled chin the Daroga spoke his mind, "Why isn't Ratcatcher dead?"

"Whatever do you mean, Daroga?" Erik idly watched the sun set behind the mountains.

"As of yesterday, he would be a corpse before becoming a liability to you."

Erik shrugged eloquently. He wasn't sure himself why he didn't finish the job for Ms. Daae. "I don't think Ms Daae could handle the thought of being involved in a murder, Daroga."

Eyeing the younger man contemplatively, Nadir nodded, "Maybe so."

"How is your posterior, my friend?"

"You noticed?"

"How could I not? Yesterday morning I would have had to cut a travois for you. This evening you walk like a rooster."

"She tried her best for you, my friend."

Erik turned from the older man and slid a hand over his mask, "I will keep trying until it works completely."

"What about Machaeon's interest in her?"

"I am an independent agent for hire, you know that Daroga. I absolutely refuse to follow the code of other organizations. It is a good way to get oneself killed. At this moment in time, I just happen to work for two opposing organizations.

Erik looked Nadir in the eye, "I have decided to coach Ms. Daae's voice and retire from espionage."

Nadir's jaw dropped. "When did you decide this?"

"Today while I was gone from the cabin. I will leave Andre and Firmin in charge of the casino with you as their CEO, if you want the position. We are not getting any younger. Remember that was our plan to begin with before Ratcatcher killed those young men, an innocuous place to retire."

A wistful note tinged his tenor voice, "I would like to start on my family as soon as possible."

Feeling a little sorry for his friend, Nadir placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be in a big hurry, Erik. Some men take years to find the right woman."

"Like you said, I have narrowed the field down. She will be a singer or opera aficionado. A woman with those tastes surely isn't hard to find." Erik picked up his personal backpack and mock saluted his friend.

Nadir watched him disappear into the darkness. "Oh my touchy friend, a good woman is more than the total sum of her voice."

* * *

"Christine Daae," Shade jumped up from the ottoman he was lounging on. Turning a speculative eye on the others in the room, he snorted. What are the chances that we all would be looking for the same woman?

"Read what the email said, one more time." Alan looked up from the laptop he was working on.

"Daae worth more than what they pay you. No allegiance is worth a million dollars. No reason to believe it isn't legit, it has the Core computerized watermark."

A loud beep permeated the room. Reyer opened Carlotta's bread box, and removed the newest transponder. "This one is coded guys, Summer you are the quickest at this, what does it say?"

Summer picked up a notepad and pen, "As of 01:00 this morning, there was an attack on the Mid Eastern Compound. All three healers abducted and no surviving Core guards."

Carlotta placed her face in her hands. "And so it starts. Why hasn't headquarters given a Code Green?"

Not unlike his mentor, Shade paced the room, "Christine Daae is safe," he offered.

"How so, Agent Shade," Reyer punched code questions into the transponder.

"The Phantom has her."

"Phantom," Alan jeered. "I thought a masked genius was some kind of bogey man meant to keep new recruits on their toes."

"Actually, the name Phantom, strikes terror to secret organizations all over the world. His secrets aren't mine to reveal, but I will let you know he has Ms. Daae. If anyone can keep her safe, he will."

"Not to be insulting, but who will keep her safe from him? Is it me or did he just kidnap her, and outmaneuver three damn good Core agents," Alan spouted.

Shade whipped around, "You are either going to trust me..."

"Whoa," Lance pointed to the transponder, "Every light on the machine lit up."

Summer hurriedly grasped the notebook, "South Western and North Pacific compounds attacked. Subjects kidnapped. No guard left alive."

Grim faced, the agents turned the television on. Shade cursed, how did the media become aware of the compounds' existence and their subsequent attacks?

"Just in from WIOG, a casino in North Carolina was bombed about ten minutes ago, there are no reports of casualties as of yet. The National Guard is trying to contact the owners of the casino. Our sources say the owners are an P and N company.

"From our vantage point the building looks totally destroyed. Wait! This in from State Police, no one is to leave the Reservation area. A lock-down has been ordered. We repeat: no visitors are to travel to or from the Reservation area. All homes and businesses are to lock their doors."

Shade swung his arm out in frustration, "Can you use that transponder on a different frequency?"

Reyer furrowed his graying brows, "This is the newest technology, I don't think there is another frequency."

"Sure there is." Shade picked up the electronic device and pulled out a knife.

"Hey, there is no way we can get another right now, if you….never mind." Alan sat back in frustration as the machine was summarily dismantled. In minutes, Shade had it back together with more lighted lines than before.

"This is actually very similar to an older version the Phantom invented."

Reyer looked over his wire rimmed glasses, "I can't speak for the rest of you, but once Core contacts us for call to duty, I am missing in action."

"I'm in."

"So am I."

"Ditto."

"As much as I can do," Carlotta muttered.

Four sets of eyes turned to Shade.

"Gotta stick with my homeboys if there is a problem, they've always treated me like family."

"Understood," Reyer held his hand out to shake Shade's.


	34. Chapter 32 Her Name is Rachel

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Her name is Rachel

"Sequoyah?" Hawke rose up off the bed, jumping to his feet. "How is this possible?" Hawke studied the turban covered head and the long stem pipe draped aross his shoulder.

"Need you ask, my brother?" The tall stranger spoke, his eyes sympathetic."

"He is a clone, Hawke." Raoul carefully placed the aloe bottle on the end table, taking a deep breath, he looked the stranger in the eyes.

Long indeterminate minutes passed as the men assessed each other.

"You are right not to place immediate trust in me, Dr. Chaney. There are many here that are loyal to their creators. What do you see when you look into the windows of my soul, Doctor?"

Having worked with the Cherokee for quite some time, Raoul had learned to look past their stoicism, "I see sincerity."

"And you, brother Hawke?"

"I see a smart craftsman and a brother."

"We cannot talk of anything important in these rooms." The man spoke in his native language.

Raoul furrowed his brow, trying to translate to himself, 'tla osda: no good. You speak: hinegv. Here: a'ni. 'He looked to Hawke then to the regal man before him. "Okay."

Sequoyah nodded. "We are to work together on the Cherokee genome for Machaeon. I will meet you and Miss Giry tomorrow at the new lab. He extended his hand and Hawke shook it.

Hawke's face immediately took on a familiar non-informative look, "We will see you tomorrow, Sequoyah."

Raoul shook hands with the man, worried about the sudden tension in the room. The door opened and a guard directed the warrior out. The two men heard the uniformed man's directions, "Listen Bozo, only speak in English, got it? What did you say?" The voices faded down the hall.

Hawke picked up his tray, and sat at the desk. Devouring his food he didn't once glance Raoul's way.

Noticing that several encyclopedic books sat on the shelf, Hawke picked one up and sat down in bed. He gingerly rested his broad shoulders against the headboard.

Picking at his food, Raoul tried to interpret Hawke's strange behavior. He knew they couldn't speak, but what just happened? He groaned. Those words were his mantra of late.

Readying for a bath, Raoul noticed Hawke had tossed the book on his bed. Sighing, he picked it up in order to return it to the shelf. A folded piece of paper with 'read' written on it marked the page.

Placing his clean clothes over the book, Raoul pretended to eat another bite. Taking up the clothes he pulled out the slip of paper. Replacing the book, Raoul sauntered into the bath.

Raoul searched for cameras. He didn't find any. Sorelli evidently assumed the bedtime and morning searches negated the need for observation in the bath. If they wanted to drown themselves it wasn't her problem.

"Crap," Raoul opened the slip. In bold lettering was the Cherokee alphabet. He hadn't started learning that! He looked again and found some writing pressed into the bottom by something with a fine edge. Hawke's fingernails, maybe.

"F.l.u.s.h," Smart move by Hawke, he thought. Hopefully the cameras didn't pick up the fact Hawke wasn't reading the encyclopedia. Placing it on his bed to pick up was a stroke of genius.

Raoul tore the missive into tiny pieces, wet them in the sink, and finished his shower. By the time he had dressed, the pieces were a soggy pulp. Mild trepidation tore at his stomach as he flushed them.

* * *

"Darius, you must have a heart of gold not to wish Erik ill." Christine rubbed her hands over the fire.

Darius blushed, "Don't get me wrong, Ms Daae. It isn't healthy not to fear the Phantom, but he did take me in from the Wusterlog skirmish. He could have left me to die in that abandoned building. Instead, they carried me out and Nadir nursed me back to health.

"Since I haven't a family, he gave me a job and asked for only loyalty in return. I don't doubt one second if I goofed, I would be a goner. He nearly lost it with me back at the Reservation. If not for Nadir's intervention, he might have followed through," Darius absently rubbed his throat.

"You speak English very well, Darius. Are you the only civilian he has helped in that way," Christine wondered.

Darius looked at Nadir, and the older man nodded, "He did the same for Shade in South Africa, and he allowed Ratcatcher to follow them out of a trap in Bosnia controlled Sudderstown. Shade was only ten at the time, though."

Christine and the two men stared reflectively into the flames in companionable silence.

"You were wrong Ms Daae," a voice grit out from the darkness.

Darius jumped up from his sleeping bag, darting guilty looks around the cave.

Exhaustion and hunger warred inside of Christine. Not a good combination. She corralled her temper, "Wrong about what," She looked toward the entrance.

"Ratcatcher must have aroused about the same time we settled here." The voice accused behind her left shoulder.

"I gave you my best estimate, he is a big man."

"It was a pitiful try," the voice spoke from her shoes.

"Now listen…," Christine screeched, her voice echoing off the cave walls. A cold hand had deftly jerked her around by the shoulder.

She felt his cool breath brush the top of her head. Long bony fingers bit into her shoulders.

"There was time enough for Ratcatcher to spill what he knew."

"Machaeon has been at work," Nadir observed.

"Probably. Some organized effort bombed the casino.

"Shade," asked Darius in a choked voice.

"No survivors were found," The long fingers tightened and began to shake Christine. "Because of you, I lost a very good man. Not counting all your precious Native Americans in my employ. Are you happy? I didn't take you for being a vindictive liar."

"Not one person blacks out for the same amount of time as another," Christine growled in between shakes. She reached out and tightly grasped his jacket sleeves, in a futile attempt at removing his hands.

Nadir threw another log on the fire, lighting the area more. Amid the ensuing pops and crackles he tried to intervene, "Stop shaking the girl, I don't believe she could have a set time-table Erik, after all, that was only the third or fourth time she had performed that maneuver."

The Phantom continued, his fingers digging deeper into her skin as he shook her harder, "All three healer compounds were raided today and dozens of Core guards annihilated. The healers have all disappeared.

"Homeland Security was unprepared.

"Twenty minutes ago England and Israel notified the President that their compounds were under attack also."

With obvious disgust, Erik pushed Christine to her blankets, turning his back on her. Furious she scrambled up. She wasn't General Daae's daughter without picking up something from him.

The men didn't see it coming.

At wits end, she quietly stalked the Phantom until he turned to face the fire.

Walking between the flames and the agitated masked man, Christine drew back her small fist and felt it crash into flesh and bone.

"I told you I'd whack you again. Something I learned from my Daddy. No one, I repeat, no one manhandles me," she huffed, shaking her stinging hand.

In shock, Erik stood still. The woman cold cocked him!

In that small moment, Nadir and Darius grasped her arms and pulled the angry prisoner into the shadows. Christine wiggled until Nadir hissed into her ear. "Place your hand at the level of your eyes."

* * *

A knock resonated on Carlotta's door. Summer opened it. A red-faced Agent Robinson stood on the threshold. "Agent Rose, these are for yourself, Agent Ryer, Agent Guidiceli, Agent Berkley and Agent Cousteau."

Saluting, he turned on heel and left.

Reyer opened his first. "I was afraid of this. Consider your vacation as an administrative leave of absence pending upon a thorough investigation. Please do not have any contact with headquarters, we will notify you of debriefing location."

Shade watched as each agent tossed their missives on the couch.

Carlotta sighed, "I guess being covert isn't a question, now. We aren't considered team members."

Shade quiered, "They link Daee's kidnapping to these attacks?"

"Evidently. There goes our contact to Core equipment," Summer made a moue with her mouth.

"That's the only good thing that's come out of this," Lance muttered.

Summer narrowed her eyes at Lance, "And what is that suppose to mean?"

Reyer immediately straightened up, "If you two cannot work together…"

"Sorry, sir." Summer murmured.

"Statement retracted sir." Lance uttered in his best 'armed forces' voice.

"What kind of equipment are we in need of?" Shade asked.

"We have one transponder. The rest of our equipment is below the diner."

Shade picked up the transponder and started punching numbers. "I have a contact that can hook us up. Her name is Rachel."


	35. Chapter 33 part one Chaos

**This will be another chapter divided in half.**

Chapter Thirty Three

Chaos

Shaking from the aftermath of her unusual, sudden fury, Christine obeyed. Nadir and Darius followed suit, placing their hands level with their eyes. Nadir used his other hand to direct her toward the cave entrance.

A cold chill skittered up Nadir's spine. The masked man began to laugh maniacally, the echoes ricochetting off the walls.

"For the love of Allah…,"

"He's gone all the way bonkers," Darius finished for him.

Christine noticed the masked man's eyes had taken on a feral yellow. Keeping her hand in place she turned to run.

"They are waiting for you."

Stopping, she hunched her shoulders, waiting for him to speak his mind.

"Ironic, no? Leave one kidnapper for another more powerful one. What do you Americans say, 'Out of the frying pan into the fire.' But… you'd be with your daughter, then."

"He is right Christine, the entire area could be full of enemy agents, yours and ours," Nadir sighed.

"What did you mean, be with my daughter?" Christine turned around and deliberately let her hand drop.

"Ah the devil you know…"

"Cut the clichés, what did you mean about Connie?"

"Ratcatcher didn't have to look far, Machaeon operatives discovered him at the cabin. Doesn't matter if he was loyal or not, they tortured the information out of him. They left this calling card." The Phantom threw a photograph at Christine's feet.

Keeping her eye on Erik, Christine picked the photo up. She placed a horrified hand over her mouth, the picture was of the captive men and women on the plane."

"Look at the reflection in the window." The Phantom had started to pace.

Christine handed the picture to Nadir who immediately whistled, "Dugan!"

"Agent Dugan? The same agent Dugan assigned to Connie? No!" Her stomach roiled. The cavern began to twist and curve transforming into an unfocused television screen. Her legs turned to a flimsy rubber, unable to bear her weight.

She aroused long enough to find her head cradled on a cool pillow. Snuggling her cheek on the material, she lost herself in a welcome rocking motion.

* * *

"Carlotta old girl, how much of this medical paraphernalia do you need," Alan inquired while unzipping a suitcase.

"Meds and crutches are all, standard first-aide kit. Stuff all the blankets you can in there, we will need them until we set up base. Soap and towels. One set clothes.

"Summer, empty the box of breakfast bars in my bag. I have two mess kits than you can toss in there. There is a box of various size batteries in the freezer."

Alan handed Carlotta her Ruger and extra ammunition. She tucked it under her blouse. Summer knelt and placed boots on Carlotta's feet.

Lance's knock sounded over loud in the room. Summer opened the door greeting him with a quick touch to the arm.

"It's gone. We will pick up our new transportation on the way out."

Reyer arrived with a red backpack, "I made it before Core closed the account. This is all she wrote."

The correct knock sounded once again and Summer admitted Shade and Agent Rachel.

Carlotta inwardly sighed, another innocent to the field to train? They hadn't done so well last time. Maybe they were okay. This Rachel Vandyke was a slim, dark blonde with enormous blue eyes and long lashes.

She had the body of an equestrian and to Carlotta's relief, walked with confidence.

Shade closed the door and made introductions. The girl didn't hesitate. "I have three rental vehicles on their way. My husband is waiting for us to arrive about 08:00 in the morning. I am only going to tell you this once. My children live there with us and if you do anything to compromise their safety he won't hesitate to hunt you to the ends of the earth.

"We have two stops to make one for Agent Cousteau's new vehicle and one for extra mechanical parts. Forrest my husband, manufactures all the equipment we use. No one will have had a chance to bug them or place their own hardware on them."

Shade broke in, "If you come in contact with the Phantom before we give the ok, abort, I repeat abort this mission and leave for your safe spots."

* * *

"Dr. Chaney, since you have a working knowledge on how to use a microscope, this will be your work station. Miss Giry, you will be manning this computer and logging the sequences of DNA that shows immune fallibility."

"Let me get this straight. Scientists all over the world are working to rid civilization of diseases and you are counter producing genomes that have little if no resistance? What are you planning on doing, replacing the disease free markers with yours," Raoul questioned.

Sorelli chucked the doctor under the chin, "I knew I had a reason to keep you alive, Doctor."


	36. Chapter 33 part two Chaos

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE PART TWO

Chaos

Christine tossed her head trying to evade the cool liquid dribbling down her chin. She grimaced as it stubbornly followed each movement.

"Madame Daae, wake up," She felt a light touch smooth an errant, damp curl from her forehead.

Christine opened her eyes to stare into mismatched blue and green ones.

"Here drink this," elegant cool hands lifted her head. She felt them tremble as they assisted her clumsy attempt at drinking.

Erik tried to squelch the butterflies springing off the walls of his stomach. His chest and arms could still feel the warmth from her body. In her sleep, she had snuggled her head under his chin, making his breath freeze in his lungs.

Erik frowned, mentally dissecting the unusual feeling… There wasn't anything wrong with his lungs. He was out of sorts over Shade, that was it. He hadn't had time to process the untimely information regarding the bombing.

"Are you hypoglycemic, Ms Daae," Nadir's voice sounded across the cave.

"Yes, I've never done this before, though." Christine sat up taking the steaming cup of soup from Erik's hand. Nonplussed, she smiled shyly at the Phantom in thanks.

Embarrassed, she inwardly groaned. Did she actually cuddle up to this man? There was no accounting for behavior in dream states.

Clearing his throat, he answered, "You are welcome."

Darius dropped a pan he had been cleaning. Nadir looked down, hiding a satisfied smile.

* * *

Alan helped Carlotta out of Lance's new Humvee. "Thank God," she spoke into his ear, "If I could, I would kiss the ground. I kept expecting Lance to drive down a mountain side."

Shade and Rachel had arrived earlier. Summer pulled in driving a sports utility vehicle, followed by Reyer putting along in a compact family car.

Carlotta noted that the log house was situated in a valley nestled between several hills. Shrill whoops rent the air. Two tow-headed children burst out of the front door nearly knocking Rachel down.

A tall thin man dressed in a blue plaid shirt and jeans exited the barn, hugging Rachel he turned to the others. "Welcome. Cole take your sister inside and start on your schoolwork.

"Ah, Daddy," the young boy grabbed his sister's hand and shuffled into the house.

Absently rubbing his blond beard, Forrest Vandyke surveyed the group before him. He was familiar with Shade but was uneasy with the other strangers. He was placing a tremendous amount of faith on Shade's young shoulders.

He and his wife had worked hard to make the ranch an innocous safe haven. Turning he entered the barn followed by his wife.

Summer shrugged, then pulled on Lance's arm. The couple followed suit. Alan stayed close to Carlotta as Reyer and Shade brought up the rear.

The group passed several animals munching hay in their respective stalls. Reyer jumped when a snorting, bay Percheron reached down and mouthed his beret. Retrieving the slobber riddled hat, the older agent admonished; mustache twitching, "That wasn't nice, have I ever tried to eat your saddle?"

A rooster flapped his wings, crowing at the newcomers. Rachel gently pushed the startled chicken off the old tractor he perched on.

Forrest hopped up and started the machine. He rolled it approximately four feet and a door slid open in the floor.

Concrete steps led down to a work room. Alan felt like he had been transported to seventh heaven. Mechanical parts lined the shelves as finished transponders, cameras, small phones, and weapons lined the tables.

Computerized screens covered one wall with one entire section devoted to the sky. A large telescope blipped and whirred with each satellite it spotted.

Alan nearly ran Carlotta over when he spotted an antique propeller hanging from the ceiling. The door closed overhead and Forrest indicated for the group to pull up seats.

Carlotta snickered, this was the first time she had ever sat on a tractor seat, even though someone had welded it to an old milk can.

"We once worked only for Core, until Rachel became pregnant with Cole. For the baby's safety, we both decided to retire and operate this shop.

"Rachel was and still is, the best plane spotter in the nation. She continues her work down here. We work with the United States Air Force, the Pentagon, FBI and CIA, among others."

"These same groups commission Forrest to make new espionage equipment prototypes. Most turn a blind eye to the fact he does not work exclusively for anyone. He is rivaled by one other person: The Phantom.

Not having a family Phantom can search worldwide for parts needed for delicate commissioned objects. He scratches our backs and we scratch his so to speak."

"Being agents, you are aware that sometimes the government's left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. It is a dicey situation.

"Rachel has been working on a way to track air traffic flying over deadly vortices. We have not, nor do we plan on inviting the government in on her research at the moment.

"We have to apologize Agent Berkley, she saw your blip signature flying into Montana and not too much later the Phantom requested information."

Alan scowled but refrained from commenting.

"What do these vortices have to do with our mission," Summer turned from studying the telescope and radar.

"I'll explain that in a minute, Agent Rose. The way we see it, your mission ties into our research. Christine Daae's daughter and friends have disappeared off the grid. The following morning after their disappearance, my wife's high frequency radar picked up a blip over the Pacific Ocean.

"We have researched and called in several contact favors, but no one knows of a plane, rocket, weather balloon, air force testing material or UFOs in that area at that time."

Rachel brought down a screen with her laptop. "If a plane started over the Pacific at this time, she pointed to a clock imbedded in the picture it would take approximately one hour to reach where I spotted the blip."

"We all are familiar with the Bermuda Triangle and Devil's Triangle but few laymen know that the world's oceans hold no fewer than twelve of these vortices. Secondly, scientists such as ourselves are unsure where the anomalies caused by these vortices actually begin and end."

Rachel circled some artifact on the screen, "These types of blips are common place and seem to travel worldwide."

Lance looked around and asked, "Why hasn't the government captured these things or at least videotaped them?"

Rachel sighed, "That's just it, these blips are flukes, and they are in fact invisible to the most sensitive of government equipment the rest of the time."


End file.
